


Stitch Me Back Together

by LightBehindYourEyes146



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Reader insert fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:18:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightBehindYourEyes146/pseuds/LightBehindYourEyes146
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are a normal, unpopular, freshman in college until three men with sharp blades attack your life. You get taken away to another world where you are forced to choose between boring life or almost guaranteed eventual gruesome death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Famous Last Words

The large room bubbles over with conversations and laughter, college students are clumped around each other at every table in the dining hall.

                “Hey, you haven’t said anything for a while. What’s up with you?” I turn to see Dominic staring me down suspiciously, salad dangling precariously on the edge of his plastic fork. “Are you feeling okay? You’d better make it to rehearsal tonight!” He scolds me.

                I laugh and shrug my shoulders, “Yeah, I’m fine.” I pick at my sad little muffin. “I dunno. I guess—I don’t know how to put it.” I contemplate my words for a few seconds before speaking again, “Winston Churchill’s famous last words were ‘I’m just bored with it all.’ I guess I just feel myself slipping in the same direction.” I shrug again, embarrassed by how whiney that came across. How can someone who’s only a freshman in college be so dissatisfied with their life already?

                I’m the kind of girl who could probably take down a thug if my life depended on it but still curl up in a fuzzy blanket and watch bad television on a rainy night. It’s not like I don’t have amazing friends and family, because I do! I have the best friends in the world and I’m studying all the right courses this year. All of this in consideration, I feel nothing. I don’t feel challenged, I don’t feel hurt by anyone, and I most certainly don’t feel happy. My home life is dreary at most; full to the brim with mundane platitudes and everyday routines, it’s enough to make me shoot my eye out just to bring something interesting into my life. A trip to the hospital would sure make for an exciting night, minus the pain, and the inability to see with two eyes ever again. You know what? Scratch that plan. That plan’s dumb.

                Dominic looks at me and back to his salad, stabbing several pieces of lettuce through with surprising force. “I get where you’re coming from. But hey, you have to promise you won’t do anything stupid.” I laugh and give up on the muffin. Dominic reaches into his bag and throws a Snickers bar down in front of me. “There, that should spruce up your lunch quite a bit! Are you happy now?”

                “Yeah, that’s perfect,” I laugh and accept the Snickers bar without any qualms, “thanks, man.”

\--

                I’m home for Thanksgiving vacation and alone in the house at 1:30 PM; I shuffle into the living room and fall not-so-graciously onto the couch. A few episodes of Doctor Who never hurt anyone.

                Before Netflix even has time to load my phone vibrates across the table with a horrible sound. I snatch it up to read the text from my dad.

_Could you please work on painting the fence while it’s still light out? Be home @ about 6:30 tonight. Mom may be late._

                Sigh. Sit up. Switch off the TV.

_Yeah, no problem._

               It’s windier out than I'd hoped. The flag on the side of the garage flaps noisily, causing me to turn in surprise each time a gust starts up. The sun hangs low in the sky. Being that it’s fall going on winter I would say it’s about 4:00 or 4:30. I would check my phone but I would rather not risk getting paint on it. I can’t remember the last time it was so nice out in November. I do remember that it was so warm we swam in October once. It may have been only about 50-something degrees out but it was fun all the same. The memory is fun but the thought of something so uncouth that could never happen now leaves a bad taste in my mouth. 

                Lately things haven’t been so luxurious. I’m not really one to complain about how terrible my life is. I mean, honestly, I’m pretty well off. I just can’t seem to get out of my rut and into the off-road experience I should be having at this point. All they teach kids in school is _'You'll need this to get into college'_ and _'If you don't do this and that you'll never succeed._ 'There should have been a class in high school about bills and mortgages and choosing a good, exciting career path. Or how about a course on how to run away and live in the mountains like a tibetan monk? I would so take that class. I bet I would ace that class. Hell, who knows? Maybe I'd even do it; run off into the sunset with just the clothes on my back and a journal full of blank pages. That would be an amazing life, never knowing where you're going or where you'll end up, yet always finding something more amazing than the day before.

                My thoughts disappear as a sudden large boom explodes from nowhere. I look up from the fence and I hear a flap of fabric and something else, it definitely isn’t the flag this time.

                Before I can understand what’s happening my fence is shattered to pieces across the lawn and there’s two men, bloody and battered, trying to tear each other apart. Their words are indistinguishable and their fighting is all too real. I may be trained but that’s just in karate class. This is real, hard core, rip your ear off fighting. None of the things running through my mind register as complete thoughts and the world around me is zooming by like a scene in a movie shot so fast you can't focus on anything. Yet, it's sort of moving frame by frame as I try to contemplate everything that's happening at once.

                “Cas!” I whip my head around to meet the source of the voice to my left.

                A _huge_ blur in flannel is running fist first into the brawl, a gleam of silver glinting in the outstretched hand. To my right another sudden movement surfaces. A forth, and slightly shorter figure in a leather jacket is now joining in the chaos.

                What the hell just happened?

                A blinding gleam of light explodes from the mess of blood, sweat, and flailing limbs and a rough scream pierces my ears. Three of the men back away and form a sort of circle around the body of the other. They’re panting and wiping their foreheads.

                “I-“ I squeak, but what do I say? How does someone respond to something so sudden and terrifying?

                I don't have anytime to take in the scene before another flash of light explodes from behind me. Within an instant I’m blown off my feet and being hurled across the yard.

                “He’s coming,” shouts one of the breathless men, “Cas!”

                I’ve shoulder dived into the ground at the first three’s feet, every bone aching like nothing I’ve felt before. My ears are ringing and everything is spinning rapidly. In the place where the light hit, it appears that another man is kneeling with a gleaming silver dagger in his hand. I attempt to stand but meet the ground again.

                “Cas, he’s coming. We need to go, _now._ ” The large one shouts as I pull myself up, just steps away from them. I think I recognize them. What the hell is going on?

                “Hold on!” yells the man in the middle.

                Another blast of light topples me over into the men just as a similar light erupts from the man in the middle.

                Everything is white and what seems like an eternity must really be only about three seconds, but they’re the longest three seconds of my life. The air flees from my lungs and it feels like I’m drowning. I’m not surrounded by water but by pressure, empty pressure, and the only thing I can feel is a vice-like grip on my arm. I grab hold of that hand and hold onto it for dear life. The preasure sucks away all of my breath and unsettles my stomach. The worst part is that it's coming in repetative rolling waves.

                The pressure leaves my body just as fast as it came and I’m standing on solid ground once again. A flare of uncertainty surfaces in my stomach and I’m pretty sure I’m going to be sick. I grab hold of the nearest sturdy force with my freehand and hold back the feeling in my gut. The vacancy of the hand on my arm becomes apparent and I look up. Dank, green walls line the small room and the three men are standing in front of me, silent and shocked.

                The room begins to sway and I’m definitely going to be sick now. I know these men. I did recognize them. Before words can even form my stomach makes its physical protest violently onto the floor. My knees give out and the men are holding me up.

                I’m on a bed now. This is Sam and Dean Winchester and their angel, Castiel. They’re placing me on a bed. Oh god, it’s like a badly written fanfiction. Jesus H. Christ, I’m in a fanfiction aren’t I?


	2. Home or Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My life will never be safe and I’ll always be on the road. There would be no such thing as home anymore. How did I get caught up in this?

                I open my eyes cautiously. The low rumble of voices fills the room and the overwhelming smell of vomit pricks at my nose. Sitting up, I try to brush it off. That couldn’t have actually happened; I must’ve fallen asleep watching TV.

                I rub my eyes and look around the room. Dank green walls, two double beds, and Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, and Castiel are sitting around a small, round table arguing in hushed voices. Suddenly the room begins to move again and I clutch the bed beneath me for support.

                Sam...or Jared... sees me sitting up and rushes to the bed, “Are you alright?” His eyebrows raise and meet the worry lines on his forehead, far too overused for someone so young.

                “Mm,” I nod, “I uh- are you-“ this is going to sound insane, “are you Sam Winchester?”

                His eyes widen and he looks around to Castiel and Dean in surprise. He slowly looks back to me, suspicion barley leaving traces but ever so evident in his expression, “Yeah, how did you-“

                “Lucky guess,” I say, “What the hell just happened? I thought you were just-“ I hesitate. Has anyone ever been in a situation like this before? How are they here, or rather, how am I here because I’m pretty damn sure that no more than two minutes before I passed out I was silently painting my fence at home, in peace. Besides, these people don’t really exist! He shouldn’t be answering to Sam; he should be answering to Jared! Where are Gen and Vicki and Daneel? “Look, what’s going on guys? Is this some sort of prank or something? If it is then, ha ha, very funny, but you scared the piss out of me. Someone just tell me what happened.”

                They glance at each other in chilling silence. Their faces are written with words unsaid. I’m going to regret this conversation for the rest of my life. I open my mouth to speak but before any words can roll off my tongue, I’m interrupted.

                “You’re trapped in a parallel world almost exactly like your own except different in almost every aspect because you were caught in our fight with an Archangel of the Lord.” Castiel – or Misha or whoever the fuck this is – states matter-of-factly.

                I blink once and shake my head, not quite sure what he means.

                “Look, Tom Sawyer,” Dean interrupts my bewildered silence.

                “That's not my name.” I interject helplessly.

                “Right, well, we were in the middle of a fight with reckless wonder there and he zapped us to another world; your world to be specific.” he points at me with the neck of his beer bottle. “You’ve been having your beauty sleep for however many hours and we’ve been trying to figure out what to do with you.”

                “Why can’t you just zap me back to my world?” This crazy train jumped way too many stops for me. Maybe in another life I would have gladly given everything up to be a hunter with Sam and Dean but this is too much change to my boring life.

                Sam shifts uncomfortably beside Dean, “We can’t exactly do that,” my nerves tense at his words, “It’s really hard to explain.”

                I set my glare on Castiel who stands up straighter and, with chin raised slightly, says, “We cannot take you home because the blast that brought us to your world was that of the archangel pursuing us. I don’t possess enough power to recreate such a blast.”

                “But you managed to get back here on your own.” My voice sounds broken and desperate even in my own ears.

                He lowers his head and looks at me through his lashes, “I was only able to do so using the energy of the blast the other archangel set off to create a charge large enough to carry us all the way back to our world.” He looks away, almost guilty.

                Okay, so let me just back track a step here. I wanted to watch Doctor Who but I had to paint a fence instead, which then got me caught in the middle of an all-out battle of the heavens, I got sucked into the world hopping express and now I’m stuck in mirror land. Well, this is a great day isn’t it?

                “Now, you can stay here for the night and we can start looking for a place for you in the morning,” Dean sighs between long pulls on his beer.

                “Woah, wait,” Sam interjects, “We’re not just going to set her off on her own. She has no family here. She has no one to take care of her.”

                Dean rolls his eyes, “Sammy, she’s not nine, she can take care of herself, she’s like 23.”

                “Actually, I’m 18 - and I’m still right here.”

                “Really,” Dean looks my way inquisitively, out of the corner of his eye, “you’re only 18?”

                “Dude!” Sam swings a large hand across his arm. “We can’t just leave you here,” he says to me, “I don’t really know what we’re going to do.”

                “Why not take her with you?” Castiel says low enough that I have to struggle to hear his words.

                Dean’s burst of laughter makes me jump. “Take her with us? What, with all the hunting experience she has?” He’s the only one laughing at the idea.

                “Actually, Dean-“

                “No, Sammy.”

                “Well, Dean, she has no other place to go,” his eyes flick to me and back to Dean, “and we all get into the business for some reason right?”

                “I’m still right here.” I murmur.

                “Right, right,” Sam places a hand on my shoulder, “why don’t you make the decision then?”

                Dean opens his mouth to protest but Sam gives him a deadly bitch face and Dean shuts his mouth. They all look at me, eyebrows knitted together and ears about ready to pop off their heads from need of an answer.

                This is huge. I’m being asked to become a hunter by two of the bravest people in existence. I could be one of them. I could be saving people all around the country. But, if I have a chance at a normal life, should I take it? A normal life is something neither of them ever really got, and they’re offering me one with a side order of help to start off with. If I leave them and try to continue living here, I won’t get to go back to college. I won’t have my parents or any other family. I’ll have to support myself and be all alone in this strange world. However, if I go with them there’s a daily gamble of whether or not I’ll be going back to sleep safely that night. My life will never be safe and I’ll always be on the road. There would be no such thing as home anymore. How did I get caught up in this?

                I should have just stayed in and watched Doctor Who.

                 When I look at both of my options from a general stand point I can’t help leaning towards the one that will ultimately get me killed. As a hunter, I could do so much better for the world than if I was a lonely wimp in a shitty apartment because I was forced out of college by a crazy man in a trench coat. That settles it then, I guess.

                I close my eyes tight and sigh. When I open them again I focus gently on each of their faces and say, “I’m going to be a hunter.”

                Sam smiles and Dean curses under his breath and paces across the floor. “You don’t even know how to kill any monsters!” He shouts, turning abruptly.

                “Try me.”

                “What’s a ghoul’s weakness?”

                “Iron.”

                “Changelings?”

                “Fire.”

                “Werewolf?”

                “Silver.” This is nothing.

                “How do you distract a fairy?”

                “Spill some salt or sugar in front of them and they’ll have to count the grains.”

                “How about vampires?”

                “Ever try dead man’s blood? I’ve heard it works like a charm.” I grin playfully. Okay, now I’m having fun here. I can see Sam not even trying to hide his amazed amusement out of the corner of my eye.

                "How in the hell do you know all of that?" Dean bursts angrily.

                "That's...not easy to explain. It's not important really." I can't actually tell them how I know all of this can I? No, that would be weird.

                Dean huffs his protest once again and paces across the floor between Sam, Castiel, and I.

                “It’ll be really helpful, Dean,” Sam assures him, “It looks like she’d know what she’d be doing, and besides, we always somehow get ourselves into situations where we need to call Cas down from boot camp to save our sorry asses.” He looks to me wide eyed and hopeful like he just invented dried tomatoes or something. “Are you good at anything else that would be useful?”

                “Um, I have a black belt in karate and I’m trained for defense against knife attacks, although I have no idea how much use I’d be in an actual serious situation.”

“You can’t just give up something this good!” Dean’s shouting now. He looks around the room frantically, “You could have a real life, friends, a job, an apartment! You can’t give that up for something so gruesome and horrible.” I lower my eyes to the floor, embarrassed. “The way we live, it’s not living; it’s fighting tooth and nail to save ourselves’ and everyone else’s oblivious asses. You could have a good thing here; don’t give it up for nothing.”

                “No,” I burst, woah, wasn’t expecting that. “That isn’t living Dean; that is wishing I wasn’t living. What you do is living. Don’t go feeling sorry for yourself, Mr. Hero. You save lives, you help people. Sure, not everyone can be saved; I get that, you get that. But that life I’d have, that isn’t life. I’d be miserable, and sad, and lost without my family. I’d have an unfinished education and could probably become no better than a grocery store clerk or mediocre hair dresser. If I went with you, that’s one more person you could save; me, and then we could save more together.” Sam’s eyebrows are crawling together and up his enormous forehead again. Dean is clutching his fist at his side. “I can promise I won’t be missing anything special here, even you wouldn’t want to stick around.”

                Dean rubs his hand over his face. We stand in silence for a moment before he turns to Sam, “Fine, but you’re teaching her how to shoot.” He throws himself into one of the chairs across the room.

                Sam looks to me and cocks his head gently, “Looks like you’re in.” My stomach churns and I don’t know what I’m feeling. It’s a big casserole of emotions. I stand and look at all three of them.

                “So, not awesome,” Dean grumbles from across the room. “No one wants to be a hunter.”

                Castiel steps back into the situation. “I have to go now. I will see you all soon. Call to me if I am needed.” Without another word he’s gone, and Sam, Dean, and I are left in thick silence.

                Sam smiles uncertainly at me and I feel like I’ve just intruded on some sort of sacred territory. I glance at the clock on the wall and I feel the exhaustion of the day seep into every bit of me; it’s already half past midnight.

                “Come’ere,” Dean sighs, pulling his chair up to the table where he was sitting earlier and patting the place next him. He’s got all the pieces of his gun spread out on a cloth in front of him. I sit next to him and he hands me an assembled gun. “Ever use one of these?” He asks. I shake my head. Honestly, I’ve only ever seen one once in real life. “Well,” he regains my attention, “you’re going to learn how to dismantle, clean and reassemble one before we go doing anything else.” I take it from him gently, the metal is cool and smooth beneath my fingers, clinking against my ring. It feels lighter than I thought it would. It must not be loaded. Hell, I wouldn’t trust me with a loaded gun right now. These two barely know me.

                Dean teaches me everything there is to know about the construction of a hand gun. He says he’ll teach me about other guns and weapons another time but for now we’re sticking with the basics. Maybe someday I’ll get to use a sniper. How fucking awesome would that be?

                I find it truly amazing how easy it is to communicate with Dean. He seemed so stubborn to me at first. But, working with him, learning from him, he’s actually very patient. He doesn’t fret if I mess up or get angry if I’m asking too many questions. It must have been a long night for them both.

                It isn’t until quarter to two that he finally tells me we’re done for the night. Sam gave in around 1:00 and is now fast asleep in the bed closest to the bathroom.

                Dean takes my gun and cloth and stashes them into a duffle bag. “You should get some sleep too, we’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

                I stand and stretch, oh man; I was hunched over that gun for way too long. I look to the beds and my heart turns over. I don’t know why I didn’t realize the problem before, but there are only two beds in here. ”Uh,” I look to Dean who’s placing his gun under the pillow of the empty bed.

                Dean looks to me, to each of the beds, then back to me. “Oh no,” He says, “No, no, no. I’m not sleeping in the same bed as gas man.” He points to Sam who’s sprawled out across the bed. “Sam tosses and turns and I talk in my sleep. Choose one and go to bed.” I really didn’t think about this. I guess, in the back of my mind, I assumed there would be accommodations for all three of us. They must have three bedded motel rooms somewhere. “It’s either tiny dancer over there or Sir-blabs-a-lot here.” He motions between Sam and himself.

                “Um, you know, I’m good here.” I point to the floor between the two beds. God knows what’s happened here in the past, but hell, I barely know these two guys. “If you don’t mind,” I take off my jacket and wrap it into a neat bundle. I switch off the light on the night stand as Dean crawls under the covers of the bed. I lie down on the floor with my makeshift pillow and curl up on my side. Next time we are so getting a room with three beds. I feel myself slipping into the warm hug of sleep. My breathing slows and my eyes slide shut. This was the craziest day of my life. I deserve a few good hours of sleep and I know the boys sure could use it too.

                Good night boys.


	3. Stranger Things Have Happened to the Winchesters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hand tight around the handle, I spin around and bring my knife out of my pocket. Just before the blade reaches his throat he takes me by the wrist.

                The smell of leather fills my nose, surrounds me, and comforts me. My body is warm but I can feel the cool air on my cheeks. There’s no light coming in from the windows aside from that of the street lamps. I persuade myself to sit up, Dean’s leather jacket slips into my lap. Dean must’ve thought I looked cold and covered me with it. My body heat radiates from the jacket like it’s creating the heat itself. I’ll probably never get back to sleep though.

                I stand quietly, draping Dean’s jacket over the back of a chair. I unravel my own and shrug into it with care, being especially cautious to zip it up quietly. My eyes still feel heavy and sunken and sleep is nagging at my consciousness. I guess I was wrong; I could really use another few hours of sleep.

                I look reluctantly to the floor between the beds and my back aches just thinking of crawling back down there. Alright, just suck it up already.  I slowly pull back the covers of Dean’s bed and slip beneath them. I lie back to back with him, letting his heat envelope me; the man’s a fucking furnace. I allow myself to be warm and cozy again and I drift back to sleep.

\--

                My eyes open slowly and I immediately see the bright blue glow of the digital clock but my vision is too clouded to focus on the time it displays. My eyes wander lazily, the first dim light of morning just peeking through the shades. The other bed is empty and the blankets are tangled. There’s a soft rustling coming from the kitchen and the bitter smell of coffee rushes through me. Sam must have already gone out and come back.

                Another rustle surfaces behind me and something moves against my hip. A warm breath on my neck and a close heat behind me comes into my perception. I turn my head just enough to see Dean, head buried into my neck, body curled close into to my own, and an arm thrown over my side.

                “Oh good,” my skin jumps in surprise at the sound of Sam’s voice, “You’re awake. I thought you two were going to sleep all day.”

                “Shut up, Sam.” Dean’s voice scares me even more. God dammit, the bastard was awake? How long did he consciously lay like that? What an ass hole. He slides his arm off me and rolls onto his back.

                I sit up on the edge of the bed and pinch the bridge of my nose. A yawn forces its way out of me. It takes all I have in me to stand instead of just curling back up against Dean and falling asleep wrapped in his warmth. Something flutters around in my stomach. That needs to stop. Coffee, coffee will do the trick.

                I tempt myself out of the bed with the thought of coffee to wake me up. Sam stands in the corner of the kitchenette with a smug face. He looks like he’s about to say something but the face I’m making must be enough for him to decide otherwise. “Morning, Gigantore.” I yawn. He laughs and rolls his eyes. Sam’s a really nice guy, even nicer than he seems. He’s got a great sense of humor and he’s very talented when it comes to sarcasm, but he really has the best intentions to keep others safe and happy. I can feel his personality gleaming off of him and I’m at ease with him. “So what’s the plan? Is there a job or…” I trail off, not really sure where that sentence was headed.

                “First thing’s first,” he says, “We have to get you to Chicago to see our buddy Jack.”

                “What for?” I ask, busying myself with one of the cups of black coffee and adding a few sugar packets from the brown coffee shop bag. As much as I hate black coffee, it’s far better than no coffee at all. I don’t think anyone ever wants to cross me in the morning before I’ve had some coffee. I’m especially bad on those mornings when I can feel how badly I slept in every waking nerve and muscle in my body.

                “We have to get you some I.D.s made. There’s really nothing you can do unless you have the right way to get around the rules.”

                Alright then, Chicago it is. I hear Dean rise off the bed with a symphony of creaking springs. He stumbles lazily into the kitchenette to join the party and the looks he and Sam exchange behind my back are almost palpable. I can practically hear Sam saying _‘Dude, seriously?’_ and Dean replying, _‘Hey man, she got in bed with_ me. _’_ What a great first impression I’ve given them. Just because I got up at the ass-crack of dawn and got into the bed with Dean doesn’t mean that all it takes to get me to sleep with you is to show me some guns and give me your jacket. When we get to the next motel I’ll make sure our room has better sleeping arrangements. How far are we from Chicago anyway? Well, in any case I guess it’s finally time I outgrow my carsickness.

                My heart stops as Dean’s chest brushes my back lightly. He’s reaching around me to get his coffee. Really, Dean, you couldn’t just stand _next_ to me? Bastard

                My stomach rumbles loudly. Oh yeah, I haven’t eaten since early afternoon yesterday. Well, we won’t be skipping breakfast today. “Wow,” Sam laughs, “I guess we should grab some food on the way.” Good idea, Sam, I’m starved.

                They pack all of their things within a decent five minutes and we shuffle out into the parking lot. I stop dead on the side walk, “Oh Baby,” I gasp, “it’s nice to meet you.” I run my hand over the smooth, shiny, black hood. The Impala is everything I ever hoped it would be; beautiful, bad ass, and perfect in every way. “You are one beautiful piece of heaven, you know that?” I say, opening up the back door and sliding in. Ever since I was about seven I’ve loved old cars. The Impala is like the cherry on top of the perfect car cake. Oh man, this car. She’s my new best friend. I can really see why John and Dean both love her so much.

                “You’re a big car fan then?” Sam says, getting into the front passenger seat.

                “Oh,” I laugh, “You have no idea.” I scoot to the middle of the seat so I’m between Sam and Dean.

                “Welcome to the club,” Dean says turning around to back out of his parking place. “If I weren’t a hunter I’d be a mechanic.” He adds proudly.

                And he’d be a damn good one at that. Even strikingly up close I can’t tell how many times the Impala has been repaired and rebuilt let alone at all. Dean really does drive way too fast. We’re doing 80 in a 50 mph zone. Don’t get me wrong though, I don’t mind at all.

                I sit back and gaze around the interior a bit. My eye is caught by the army figure lodged in the ash tray on the door. I can’t help but smile and imagine little Sam and little Dean stuffing it in there and then trying to hide it from John no matter the cost. It’s finding these real little things in their life and being able to see them and experience them that are so ridiculously surreal to me.

                “I want to get a few miles down before we stop for food.” Dean’s voice pulls me from my thoughts and back down to earth. Sam nods and I hum my agreement. I have a feeling something great could come of this; me traveling with Sam and Dean Winchester, the greatest hunters the world has ever known.

                We finally pull into a diner parking lot at about eight o’clock. “I’m just gonna grab some take out. What do you want?” Sam asks, unbuckling his seat belt and turning to each of us.

                “I want a double sausage and egg sandwich. Don’t hold back on my sausage.”

                “I’ll come with you.” I might as well help him carry things out.

                “Hey, do you think they sell pie in the morning?” Sam rolls his eyes and we get out of the car.

                The diner is cute, very small, very ‘Mom and Pop,’ and obviously a locally loved joint. There are countless Polaroid photos on the walls of what I can only assume to be loyal customers and beloved townspeople. There’s just something weird about it all I can’t quite place. Something doesn’t feel right, or even smell right for that matter.

                A man approaches the counter from behind. “How can I help you folks?” He smiles, he seems friendly enough. Still feel a bit off about everything here.

                I’m suddenly very aware of the silver knife Dean gave me, _‘Be sure you always at least have_ this _with you, even if you don’t have a gun, a knife can slow almost anything down.’_ he’d said. I wrap my fingers around the hilt in my jacket pocket and smile back at the man, feeling my eyes crinkle in the corners. A genuine smile is never hard to replicate. Something wrong definitely ebbs from this man and from every wall and corner of this place.

               “Uh, yeah can we get one double sausage and egg sandwich, a ham and egg sandwich, and a –“ Sam looks to me with raised eyebrows.

               “Oh, um, an egg and cheese sandwich, please.”

               He nods, “You got it,” he finishes scribbling down the last of our order and looks back up at us, “Will that be for here or to go?”

               “To go, please,” Sam and I turn our backs and sit down at the counter a little ways down to wait.

               I’m quiet for a moment before I say, “Does something feel, I dunno, not right to you? It just- it doesn’t smell right or something.”

               Sam looks at me wide eyed, “You smell it too? Thank god. What is it?” There’s a note of surprised urgency woven into his words.

              “I don’t know! Is it something we should look into or do you thinks it’s just rotten tomatoes or a cook who really needs to shower?” We laugh, careful not to raise a ruckus for the other early bird customers.

              “No, no, it smells almost like, fried human meet.” He scrunches his nose.

              “Oh, God, does it really?” I wouldn’t doubt he’d know what that smells like. “You don’t think they’re making people sausages, do you?”

              “I don’t know. Why don’t we text Dean and tell him to look around back and we’ll see if one of us can’t get into the kitchen from here?”

                “Sounds like a plan to me,” I nod, glancing around the room my eye catches the bathroom sign. Dammit, the bathroom excuse is out of the question. We’re thinking on our feet then. Okay, I think I could become a pro at this, no problem. “You want to look or should a health department specialist take a peak?” It shouldn’t be too hard to convince the man I’m a health inspector.

                “I’ll text Dean, you get to the kitchen.” He takes out his phone and I set out to the cash register.

                Well, looks like we might have a job after all. My heart is about to burst. I ring the bell on the counter beside the register. The man comes back out, drying his hands with a dish towel.  “I’m sorry to bother you sir, but my name Megan Scholtz, I’m with the health department. I’m going to need to take a look in your kitchen if you’d be so kind.”

                “What seems to be the problem, Miss?” If lying is the game, I could damn well be a fierce competitor.

                “Your establishment has recently surfaced on a list of late inspections. I’m going to need to get into that kitchen now, Sir.”

                He nods reluctantly as he opens the small gap in the counter for me to step behind, “Of course, Miss, this way then.” He leads me through a swinging door into the kitchen. It’s very small for a restaurant kitchen, but I would expect no less from a family owned diner.

                A young man is cooking at one of the stoves and every surface but the one is all but sparkling. If I wasn’t certain they were doing something illegal I would probably really enjoy eating here. Well, the kitchen is clean, “How about the freezer?”

                Something dark shifts behind his eyes, he hesitates and something churns in stomach. That’s it, isn’t it? They’re keeping bodies in the freezer. A warm flush of blood rushes up my neck and across my cheeks. I wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear my heart pounding against my ribs right now. For a second it seems like he might kick me out but it’s a fleeting expression. He sinks back into his discomforting smile and gestures with his arm.

               “Right this way, Miss.” He leads me to the back of the kitchen to a large, metal door. That’s a restaurant freezer if ever I saw one.

               He opens the door and motions me inside. A light gust of cold air plumes past me, carrying a ripe heavy smell. I grip my hand back around the knife in my pocket. The shelves hold basic restaurant foods like sausages and premade patties, but the lower shelves are what grab my attention. Out of one of the farmer’s market boxes on the bottom shelf, three fingers are curled ever so lightly around the edge of the cardboard. It’s like someone threw the arm in there without really caring if it made it all the way into the box or not.

               The door thuds shut behind me and no sooner does a low growl begin at the very pit of the man’s stomach. Okay, so what, I’m dealing with a werewolf then? Well let’s do it Michael Jackson.

               Hand tight around the handle, I spin around and bring my knife out of my pocket. Just before the blade reaches his throat he takes me by the wrist. Sharp spurs of pain erupt as his newly dawned claws dig into the skin of my wrist. “Sorry, Miss, but I can’t have that in my restaurant.” He spits, pining me to a shelf.

                C’mon, you’re tougher than that; you have to be able to at least get out of this hold. I stomp on his foot and bring a hard left hook to his stomach. He doesn’t exactly crumple to floor like I’d hoped. Luckily, the blow is enough to at least send him staggering back a bit. I hit him with another blow to the jaw and he slams back against the shelf with a harsh yelp. Oh, Jesus! They never said how much punching someone in the face actually hurts!

                My hand throbs a bit with pain but I grit my teeth and raise my knife. I take swing with it and I just barely graze his cheek as he swiftly avoids the blow. The flesh around the cut on his cheek is burning. I can hear it sizzling beneath his howls of pain. How’s that silver feel, dick head?

                He lunges for me but I’m too quick, he shouldn’t have let me anticipate his attack like that. I take him at the waist and tackle him to floor. His head bashes against a shelf and he screams again.

                “Sorry, Kujo.” I say, holding my knife to point at his heart.

                He’s laughing, the bastard is actually laughing. What a bitch. Press the tip of the blade a little harder against his chest. More gurgling laughs spill from his throat. What the hell is so goddamn funny to this guy?

                “He’s going to kill them you know. He’s going to kill the family first.”

                What? Is this trivia night or something? Who’s family? My heart is racing. I’m barely thinking through my actions before they actually play out. I don’t feel as in control of myself as I should. I don’t hesitate to ask what he means before plunging my knife into his heart. He spurts out blood and guttural sounds then finally falls limp against the shelf.

                I pull my knife from his chest and wipe it on his sleeve. My head begins to clear and I have to stand and take in the scene for a moment. Did I really just kill a werewolf? I totally did. My heart is pounding against my ribcage and I can only imagine how disheveled and insane I must look. I take a few steps back from the body, wiping my forehead on the back of my hand. Sam and Dean do _not_ get paid enough for this.

                The freezer door flies open behind me. Hands on my shoulders spin me around and I’m facing Dean. “You okay?” He demands. It’s not so much a question as it is a command that I better be okay or else.

                Close my eyes, deep breath. I replace the knife into my pocket. “Yeah,” I huff, “Let’s get cleaned up here and get some breakfast.” I push past him. I don’t really feel like staying in the freezer of doom for much longer, thanks.

                In the world of Sam and Dean and Monsters and Demons, even an ‘on the go’ breakfast can turn into an all-out death match. I’d better get used to this, because, out of all the ways I thought my first hunt would go, it sure wasn’t like that. Usually with huge things like this, people ease into the learning curve. Well, if killing a werewolf barehanded, alone, in a locked restaurant freezer isn’t the best way to learn, then I don’t know what is. It’s just the uncertain way of things. I shouldn’t be too upset about it. It was just a werewolf and after all, you know what they say; stranger things have happened and all that.


	4. Bulldozers and Razor Blades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scooting up to perch between Sam and Dean, shoving my hands in my jacket pockets, I remember what had happened just hours earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my friends for proof reading for me for and keeping me on track! I hope you all are enjoying it so far. Let me know what you guys think.

                The sunlight hitting my face is hot and I can feel the redness trickling across my cheeks. The light on my eyelids pulls me from sleep. A sharp stab of pain in my temple spreads throughout my head. Barely opening my eyes, the light blinds me. I’m lying down in the back seat of the Impala and ‘Carry on my Wayward Son’ is blasting through the car. Jesus on a Popsicle stick, no wonder I have a headache.

                I sit up, clutching my head. Oh, god, it feels like someone’s unscrewing the top of my head and filling it with razor blades. I pinch lightly at bridge of nose and reach for the volume.

                “Woah! Hey!” Dean yells. Fuck. Don’t yell, Dean.

                “Shh.” It’s just slightly louder than a whisper. I pinch harder. I can feel them looking at me and at each other.

                “Headache?” Sam’s tone is gentle but still too much for me.

                “Mhm.” I hum, nodding lightly.

                We sit in a thick silence under toned by the purr of the Impala’s engine and her tires on the asphalt. I open my eyes wide and stretch away the sleep in all my muscles. How long did I sleep for, I wonder? Scooting up to perch between Sam and Dean, shoving my hands in my jacket pockets, I remember what had happened just hours earlier.

                “Oh my God.” I wrap my fingers around the handle of my knife and pull it out into the open space between the three of us. There’s dried blood crusted between the hilt and the blade. “Right, so—“

                “You killed a werewolf.” Dean interjects flatly.

                “Yeah, I did, huh?” I fiddle with the knife in my hands.

                “Yeah, the sick bastards were killing people, eating their hearts, and selling the rest of the meat at their damn restaurant.” Dean spits. He speaks as though he doesn’t want to dirty his mouth even speaking of such a horrific idea.

                Well I was one step away from becoming the next happy meal. How I managed not to die is a mystery, even to me. But, just before I stabbed him in the heart the man said something strange. It was something about “ _The family”_ , something about killing a family. I’m pretty certain he meant mine. But, who wants to kill them and why?

                “He said something weird before I ganked him though.” I clear my throat, concentrating hard out the windshield. “He said- he said, ‘ _He’s going to kill the family first.’_ ” I watch their reactions carefully. “He means my family doesn’t he?”

                Sam purses his lips, “What would someone want with your family?” I shake my head, just as confused as him. “And who are we talking about here anyway?”

                “You know just as much I do.”

                “Whatever it is, we’ll pull it out of the shadows. Pee break?” Dean pulls into a gas station parking lot.

 

\--

 

                “So, what do you guys do on Thanksgiving anyway?” I ask on our way out of the Gas N’ Sip. The man at the register gave us a friendly _‘Happy early Thanksgiving’_ , when we were checking out. We’d all completely forgotten, what with the whole werewolf ordeal at the diner.

                “We used to go to Bobby’s every year.” Sam says, “I guess we don’t have any real traditions to follow.” I feel a special kind of discomfort swimming between us all. Dean is silent as he slides behind the wheel and Sam doesn’t add anything further. I sit back in my seat and let the air settle.

                I can only imagine what Thanksgiving at Bobby’s was like; three bottles of whiskey, Chinese takeout, and _Megashark Vs. Crocasaurous_ on DVD. It sounds terrible. There’s going to be no home cooked thanksgiving for me again, is there? Well, no point in dwelling on things we can’t have. It’s just one of those happy memories that will eventually go bitter out of desire and inability to obtain.

                We play rock-paper-scissors to choose who gets to pick out the place to stay. To my luck, I win. The Kings Court Inn seems fine to me. I book a room with two queen sized beds, a couch, and a small fire place.

                It’s kind of funny, actually. I’ve been with Sam and Dean for two days now and already I’ve slept with Dean; unintentionally, iced a monster, and now I can feel myself slowly becoming part of the family. I sort of form my own comfort out of what I have in front of me. Any other person in my situation would probably have stayed on the floor or died in that freezer. Not me though, I’m shaping this world as I go. Sam and Dean are like that in a way too. They could very well go about their lives as business men and leave the monsters to lurk in the shadows. But no, they shape this world in their own way. They pull out the monsters that secretly terrorize the common people and they send them away. They do the job that no one should have to do. They were made for this and I was made for them. We’re a puzzle and I was the piece that was forgotten under the chair until halfway through. But we’re together now and we can hold each other in place until our clocks run out for the last time.

                My phone says it’s 11:13 PM when we’ve brought our things into the motel room. Dean throws himself right onto one of the beds and switches the TV on.

                I sit at the table and place my face in my hands, rubbing my eyes gently.

                “I’m starving.” Dean proclaims to the room at large. No immediate replies. “What are we gonna do about grub?”

                “I guess I could go out and grab something.” Sam offers, a little hesitantly. “Let me guess; double bacon cheese burger, hold the onions.” He says, pointing at dean who nods proudly. Sam turns his finger on me. “And you, what do you want?”

                “Uh, whatever is fine with me,” I say, so lightly it could almost be a whisper if it were any less palpable in my chest as I speak it. My head is still pounding.

                “Maybe I should get you something for that headache.” He adds, concern catching in his voice. “Is there something in particular I could pick up for it?”

                “Yeah, bring me a gun to put to my temple.” I feel the disapproving smirks and instantly wish I could take that back. “Just get me some Asprin or something please.”

                Sam nods and heads out the door. It honestly feels like my head is being bulldozed down a gravel road. Every light in the room is brighter than the sun and every sound is like a bullhorn. I crawl under the covers of the other bed, groaning all the way. I curl up on my side and form the smallest figure I can manage. I pull the pillow over my head and the blankets up to my shoulder. It doesn’t block everything out but it’s a major improvement. Every inch of me is horribly uncomfortable and I feel like I could throw up at any moment from the pain. I’ve only ever had a migraine twice in my life before this. The pain is worse than I remembered.

                The bed dips behind me and a light hand is on my back. Is Dean rubbing my back? Wow, that’s weird, yet oddly very comforting. I lean into his touch. My nerves slacken just slightly. I’m less uncomfortable at least.

                The smell of the sheets fills my nose and the sound of fabric is whispering in my ears. Dean’s hand slides rhythmically, gently over my back. The pain in my head is still strong as my consciousness slips away from me, leaving me nestling quietly into the darkness.

 

\--

 

_Why?_

                “Why what?” I ask. The voice seems to reverberate from all around me. This empty white space is unfamiliar.

_Don’t leave us._

                “Leave who?” I don’t recognize the voice. It seems to be several voices put together.

_You are a coward._

                “Who are you?” My scream echoes back and vibrates through my bones.

_You are afraid. You are weak._

                “I don’t understand! Who are you?” Every sound is like glass shattering at my feet and in my ears and over my fingertips. My teeth feel loose and my skin is crawling in discomfort.

_Weak. Coward. Useless. Useless. Useless._

                 I sink to my knees and cover my ears against the booming words.

_You cannot help. You cannot be this. Useless. Useless._

\--

                 I jolt awake. My face is wet and I’m trying to catch my breath. I can feel the heat radiating off my skin. The room is still lit and the low rumble of voices is coming from the table.

                 I wipe my face dry with the blanket and push myself up on my elbows. My breathing is a bit shaky but it’s hardly noticeable.

                Sam looks up from his laptop and sees me. His face pinches up the moment his eyes meet mine. I must look like a complete wreck. I can feel the sweat on my forehead and my chest. Dean turns to look at me over his shoulder. His face crumples at the sight of me too. I would be offended if it didn’t feel like I were about to shatter into pieces at any second.

                Sam pushes himself from the table and his chair makes the most god awful sound I’ve ever heard. He bounds his way over to my bed and gently leans down to me. He places the back of his hand on my forehead. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Can people die from migraines?

                “Oh shit, she’s burning up.” he says. “Dean, bring that over here.”

                There’s a rattle of pills on plastic and ice in a cup and suddenly Asprin is being forced into my hand. I attempt to lift it to my mouth but all my energy is immediately gone. I fall back and everything becomes a blur. This is definately not what I remember migranes being like. Something is very wrong here. How did this happen to me?

                “Dammit,” Sam spits, “Dean, c’mere.”

                The walls are dancing and all sound is being drowned out by a loud hum. I feel Sam and Dean propping me up. One of them is holding me up while the other places the Asprin in my mouth. I can feel the tears rolling down my cheeks. The sharp pain is digging further and further into my skull. They’re pouring water into my mouth now. It’s all I can do to swallow it. A third pair of hands has my face between them now. I manage to focus on Castiel directly in front me and the others are holding me up at my sides. Their mouths are moving but I can’t hear them right. It’s as if we’re separated by a wall of water. “She’s being held by something.” Castiel’s voice breaks through the barrier. What does he mean being held by something? Does that mean the same thing as possesed? No, if I was possesed I would know, I would feel someone else in here with me. Then what the hell is in my head?

                “ _What do you fear?_ ” It’s that voice again. It’s clear as day.

                Sam, Dean, and Cas all look at me, horrified and confused. Wait, do they hear it too?

 _“Who will you lose?”_   They shake me. Oh fuck. Is it me? I’m saying this? It’s not really me though. That’s not my voice. Those aren’t my words. I can’t stop it. I can’t hold my tongue. _“What of the family?”_  Stop! Let go of me! Get out of my head! _“What of them? What of them?”_ The ice pick in my brain gets deeper and deeper.

                “Close your eyes!” Cas shouts. We all obey.

                I feel a hard hand gripping my head tight. I see the light through my eyelids first before the piercing warm pain rips through me like acid washing over my body. It drips into my brain, rushes through my veins, and pumps through my heart. I can feel it shoot out of my mouth, eyes, and finger tips. It’s light and hot as it streams out of my body in graceful beams.

                I fall back, panting. The migraine is gone, the voice is gone, and the dizziness is gone too. All I feel is exhaustion. Castiel set me straight from whatever was wrong with me. “Wh-“ I huff. “What the hell,”

               “Your mind was being taken. You were being manipulated by a psychic force somewhere far away from here. “ Castiel states matter-of-factly.

               “Oh, wonderful,” I rub my hands over my face. After a moment or two I sit up and face them all. Their looks of concern shifting back to that normalcy. “Okay then, game’s on. Who’s ready to hunt?”


	5. Maybe Someday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean pulls into a field off the deserted back road and parks the Impala in front of the tall grass. There’s an old post fence a few yards away. It’s like this field was made for shooting practice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took me so long to upload but I've just finished up my midterm exams so I didn't really have time to reread and revise until tonight! But I hope you enjoy this abnormally short chapter.

                If this room didn’t smell like rubbing alcohol and I didn’t have a guy holding me down to a table with a pulsing needle in my back, this day would be pretty nice. Sam and Dean nod to me from the waiting area across the room but there’s really no gesture I can make back without risking permanent consequences.

                After the crazy-brain incident in our hotel room last night, they decided we really shouldn’t take any chances until I get an anti-possession tattoo. So, here I am, practically shirtless on a table in a tattoo parlor with the most inked up guy I’ve ever seen holding me down flat. I guarantee my cheek will be bright red when I sit up from being smothered for so long. “Almost done.” says the human canvas behind me.

                I decided the best place for me to get the tattoo is the back of my shoulder so it won’t be too noticeable. He finishes up pretty fast and cleans up my back. He hands me a small mirror to see the reflection of it in the full body mirror across the room. In all honesty, it’s actually really awesome. I’m so glad my mom isn’t here to yell at me for this.

                “All good?” Sam and Dean stand as I approach them, pulling my shirt back on over my cami.

                “Yeah, it looks great.” We step back outside to the Impala. The back seat holds my new duffle bag, which contains my new wardrobe; 3 pairs of jeans, 6 shirts, and a complete pant suit. Sam and Dean insisted that I should have something to wear to be a convincing F.B.I. agent, but I think they just wanted to torture me.

                “Jack won’t be done with your I.D.s until later, so what should we do?” Sam asks, breaking an unnoticed silence.

                We arrived in Chicago at about 6:00 this morning. We met up with Jack around 9:00 AM and he’s been working on my I.D.s since then. I guess today is the day we get all of my basic hunter necessities out of the way. On that note, “You could teach me how to shoot,” seems like a great suggestion.

                Sam and Dean exchange a look, Sam shrugs a silent _‘I don’t see why not’_. Awesome.

 

\--

 

               

               Dean pulls into a field off the deserted back road and parks the Impala in front of the tall grass. There’s an old post fence a few yards away. It’s like this field was made for shooting practice. He opens the trunk and props up the arsenal cover with a sawed off shot gun. Holy shit they have a lot of weapons. There’s more guns and knives than I can count, endless containers of salt, a couple of other things I have no idea about and probably don’t want to know... and a Japanese katana. Well, hopefully I’ll never have to use that. Except that would be really cool and bad ass.

                Dean hands me the same hand gun I was cleaning a few nights ago, “Here, we start small.” I take it gingerly, once again aware of its emptiness. He motions me through the steps of loading the gun as Sam sits idly on the front hood drinking a beer. I wonder what it’s like for them to have a day off like this. Just to be able to watch the clouds in the sky and not have to worry about any danger. Well, besides me with a loaded gun that is.

                A day off must be like a vacation. Danger and uncertainty is what these men live by. How could one day of relaxing in field with just some beer and friends not be like a mountain of relief on their shoulders? When does the weight really feel like it's been lifted? Will it ever? Will I eventually feel all of the world's weight on my shoulders too? These are the things I fear when I see the true details in the Winchester's faces and bodies and actions. I wonder about the over all out come for all of us. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. Nothing is going to happen unless I live this day by day, which, as it so seems, I'm stuck doing. That's fine though, I'm kind of enjoying myself here already.

                “Alright,” Dean lines me up with the empty beer bottle he placed on the fence, “relax your hand.” I slacken my muscles ever so slightly, “Good, now, safety off?” I nod. “Aim for the bottle, breathe in slow, breath out, and,” my anxiety level is sky rocketing, “shoot.”

                The shot has sharp recoil and the bang is much louder than I anticipated. But, it isn’t followed by the shattering of glass, which is a bit of a disappointment.

                “That’s okay,” Sam reassures me, “Just try it again.”

                Alright, line up with the bottle, relax, breath in, out, and – shoot. The glass remains intact. “Dammit!”

                “Hey, it’s no big deal. This is your first time using one.” Dean brushes a light hand on my shoulder. “Keep on trying.”

                It takes me a good five or six tries before I hit the bottle, and by then Sam’s got another one ready for me and is laughing so hard I’m surprised he hasn’t fallen off the hood of the car yet. Dean hands me a sawed off shot gun to try this time.

                I line it up, it’s far heavier than the hand gun and with that, far more intimidating. “Just be careful,” Sam warns as I ready myself to take another shot, “this one has a harder –“

                _BANG!_

                Ow!

                “recoil.” He finishes.

                “Ah, damn!” I clutch my face, blood filling my hand, “I think I broke my nose.” Well that sucks. “Hey,” I extend my hand to them, “Am I bleeding?”

 

\--

 

                “That was really smooth.” Dean hands me another tissue to hold to my throbbing nose.

                “Hey, don’t make fun of me or I’ll tell people you’re an abusive husband or something.” Sam bursts out laughing again but Dean just rolls his eyes and lets out a soft chuckle. “Oh, come on, that’s funny!”

                “Yeah, you’re a regular George Carlin alright. Here,” he lowers my hand, “it’ll heal crooked if you don’t set it right.” His fingers line up lightly on the sides of my nose, “This’ll hurt pretty bad for a minute. Are you ready?”

                I swallow hard and squeeze my eyes shut. Dean tightens his grip on my nose and places his free hand on the side of my face. “Deep breath,” he says, “One, Two,”

                A sharp pain bursts through my face as he snaps my nose straight. “Fuck!” I scream.

                “Sorry, it’ll feel better in a little while.” He says, handing me a small rag to clean blood from the gash across the bridge of my nose. I take it from him, this is a fantastic day. “You’re going to have a couple of pretty nasty black eyes there.” Well that’s wonderful.

                It looks like shooting practice is over for the day. Best first lesson ever. We load up our things and head back to Jack’s place. Sam lets me ride shot gun as some sort of consolation for laughing his ass off when the gun broke my nose. That doesn’t actually stop dean from blasting AC/DC all the way to Jack’s, though.

                There’s something oddly settling about driving with Sam and Dean. It’s like it’s just another part of my life I’ve always known and I’ve been missing out on all these years. The road beneath the tires sounds smooth and right in every way, the Sun gleaming off of the hood and shining through the windows is perfect and pristine. This is a life I could get used to; a life of excitement and mystery. Yet, somehow, I feel like I’ve had days like this before; uncertain, unsure of what could jump out of the shadows, and an everlasting fight for a better cause. Where have I done this before? Why is it so familiar? It’s probably because I’m already beginning to feel at home with Sam and Dean. It’s probably nothing.

                I twist the ring on my finger as brief flashes of distant, almost unreachable things fly through my mind, like old memories all blurred around the edges. The blue stone glows in the sunlight and I have a feeling of ease. It feels like I could fly away. Maybe someday I will. Maybe someday I’ll get to soar high and taste a true victory. Maybe someday.


	6. Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So far, Sam and Dean have worked a total of four full cases and they haven’t let me come along once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies again for the time. This is a longer chapter and I took a while on it. I hope you enjoy it!

                 It’s been two weeks since we left Jack’s place and I got all of my fake I.D.s. So far, Sam and Dean have worked a total of four full cases and they haven’t let me come along once. They keep giving me mini training sessions here and there but when it comes to real jobs I’m beginning to wonder if they’re ever going to take me out. We’ve worked my acting skills into the ground so that I can be a convincing agent from god knows what. I’m also proving to be a far better shot than I thought I’d be. Yet they still aren’t letting me come on hunts! Hell, they put me on research duty!

                 Thanksgiving passed by all of us without a single care. We spent the night drinking and laughing in a motel since Jack didn’t have room for the three of us.  It really didn’t feel like any thanksgiving I’d ever known. It felt like a new kind of familiar. I’m getting to feel closer and closer to Sam and Dean by the day, despite the fact that they leave me to do all of their homework while they go out and have all the fun. Nonetheless, we usually spend each night kicked back with a couple of beers, picking on bad television. I think I’m starting to turn into one of the guys.

                 As of right now, Sam and Dean are working a case on some woman whose husband’s limbs were found in a pile on her front stoop. They’re out investigating while I search all of the ancient lore for a tip on what could have done it. We arrived here about three days ago, back at Bobby’s cabin in the woods. Actually, it was originally Rufus's but it's somehow become know as Bobby's to Sam and Dean.

                 I’ve been toying around with some carving knives I found down in the basement yesterday, already having given up on ever finding the creature that they’re searching for. I figure, if they’re hunting it then they’re bound to find out what is when they actually catch it. Besides, the evidence left behind was way too vague for me to get any kind of start on researching it.

                 I flex my fingers and look down at the ring on my left hand. The stones are glowing dimly despite the lack of sunlight. They’ve been doing that more and more since I came here. I’ve had the ring all my life, but ever since I came to Sam and Dean’s world it’s taken on an entirely new atmosphere about itself. It was supposedly my great grandmother’s but no one could ever seem to tell me how she came by it or how precious it was to her. I Have a feeling I’ve always had it and no one knew why or how. Growing up I could never be separated from it. Even as a small child when it was too big for my fingers I would wear it on a chain around my neck, the odd blue light always glinting off the surface. I can’t explain how the ring came to me but I’d like to know what my connection to it really is.

                I jump abruptly as my phone beings to vibrate loudly across the metal worktop in the cabin’s basement.

                “Hey, Dean,” I sigh into the receiver, heart beat still racing.

                “Hey, so it turns out it was the lady’s brother in law who just so happens to be a shape shifter. The guy was married to her sister and the sister’s don’t really get along. So, the wicked sister was using the fact that Shifty-Joe was madly in love with her to manipulate him into doing her dirty work.”

                “Huh, what could get them to hate each other so much that one of them would sick their attack monster on the other’s husband?”

                “I don’t know, she stole her Princess Barbie playhouse?”

                “Yeah,” I laugh, “Maybe she threw her dream boat Ken in the toilet and tried to flush it.”

                “Yeah, you never know.” The sound of passing cars fades in and out in my ear, “So we’ll be back soon. Try not to get killed.”

                “You got it.” I hang up, sitting back in my chair.

                I rub my hands over my face, breathing in. I look around the small basement room again. It’s pretty empty except for the few shelves lining two of the walls and the workbench in front of me. Dim sunlight bleeds in in streaks through the floorboards overhead. It’s impossible to sit down here while Sam and Dean are home because shitloads of dust falls through when they walk upstairs.

                The ground floor is a bit bigger than the basement. There’s one main room that’s a combined kitchen and living room and it leads to an adjacent, tiny bedroom with two twin beds. There’s also a small step up back room with a creaky old pull out couch. The bathroom is small and adjacent to the back room, barely fitting a tiny stand up shower, a toilet, and a thin porcelain sink. This place might be dusty and dirty but it feels more like home than any place we’ve stayed since I joined the team.

                After placing the carving knives back in their respective places and slipping the small block of wood I was working on into my pocket, I climb the stairs back up to the ground floor. The windows are all mostly boarded up but the sun is just about set by now anyway. The windows and doors are covered with sigils and markings, all of which I still have yet to learn.

                I fall onto the couch and switch on the TV, not bothering to change to the channel as I curl up on my side and nestle into the back of the couch. I close my eyes just listen. I listen to the low rumbling of voices from the TV, the wind whipping the freshly fallen snow around outside the cabin, and whisper of the fabric in my ear. Everything is slow and normal and calm. I reach for the blanket slung over the back of the couch but my hand brushes something warm and rough. I bolt up and look around.

                “Hello.” Castiel stands behind the couch looking down on me with sunken eyes. Every inch of him is withered and worn like the days have shown him how harsh they can be. Above that all, however, he looks tired. Is that possible? Can angels get tired?

                “Shit, Cas, you scared the piss out of me.” My words are short and airy through my attempts to catch my breath. My heart is pounding in my chest again. I’m usually not this jumpy; I don’t know what’s with me lately. “What’s up? I haven’t seen you weeks, where have you been?”

                “I apologize,” he shifts awkwardly, “I saw you were sleeping and I didn’t mean to wake you.”

                “No, no it’s fine. I was awake. What’s up?” I wave it off and motion for him to sit.

                He hesitates momentarily then moves smoothly to take the place next to me on the couch. “I came to warn you. You may be protected in this house but I fear you will be tracked and hunted by the archangels as well.”

                “Why? Do they want me because I’m with Sam and Dean now?”

                “I’m not sure why, but I think you should take the necessary precautions.” He shifts his eyes warily.

                “I don’t—What do you mean?” I’m treading around the area cautiously, afraid to hear the next words out of his mouth.

                “I mean you need to let me carve Enochian protection sigils into your ribcage in order to hide you from the angels.”

                Well so much for beating around the bush. So basically he wants to graffiti my bones? Wouldn’t that hurt like hell though? Sam and Dean must have known he’d come to help with this sooner or later so there’s no point in looking to them for a consultation. If I don’t let Cas sign my bones I could very easily be caught and killed or something just for being with the Winchesters. I guess I really have no choice.

                “Will it hurt?” My voice is soft and unsure though I’m trying to keep a confident aura in light of things. “Like for a while? Or will it just hurt for a second?”

                “It will feel like I’ve just place a torch beneath your flesh for a moment but the pain will fade quickly.” He looks like he’s trying to reassure me with his sad blue eyes, but all I see in them is exhaustion.

                “Okay, lay it on me then.” I spread my arms and squeeze my eyes shut; half joking but half sincerely frightened.

                He places a hand on my chest just below my collar bone, fingers warm and gentle. Palm flat against me he puts heavy pressure into his touch and the searing begins to burn through me. It feels like a thousand little sparks have just ignited all at once and started a fire throughout my entire chest. I grip the couch cushions hard and the burning peaks, then starts to subside.  As it fades away I open my eyes and meet Castiel’s. The corner of his mouth pulls up sympathetically. What has he been through that has him looking so distinctly sunken and tired?

                “Hey, Cas, you okay man?” I grab his shoulder lightly, scanning his face. “What’s up with you?”

                “I’ve been hiding as well, I think I’m—“ He looks down at his lap and swiftly avoids eye contact as he struggles out the words, “I think I’m beginning to fall.” I see the pain woven through every syllable of each word as his spits them out. The pain swims in every feature of his face.

                “Oh man, I’m so sorry. But are you really sure? I mean, how do you know…if you don’t mind my asking?”

                “I can feel my heavenly powers growing weaker and my vessel’s needs growing stronger.” He finally looks back up at me, everything about his expression screams remorse, “I’ve begun to require sleep in the evenings and I can no longer manipulate time as I could before.” He shakes his head. “Soon I’ll be just as human as you and the Winchesters.”

                “But Cas, even if you’re right and you are falling it’s not like you don’t have a place to go. You’re place is here, with Sam and Dean. You could be a hunter.” I stand and rummage through the fridge for a cold beer. “Maybe one day, you and I could make our own hunting duo. You never know.” I hand him the cool bottle and open up one of my own.

                 I can practically see him rolling my words over in his head, imagining the scenario and the life those words could entail. No readable expression will show me how he feels about this suggestion. “I’m tired.” He states blatantly, though I can sense the underlying words.

                “Tired of running or just plain tired?”

                He takes a moment to examine his bottle intensely before he sighs, “Both I suppose.”

                “Well, you’re welcome to sleep here, and even stay a while if you'd like.” I glance at the clock, “It’s getting to be late anyway.” I stand and grab his hand, leading him along with me. “Sam and Dean will crash in there when they get back,” I say as we pass the room with the beds, “So here, you can take my bed.” I pull up the cushions from the couch in the back room and place them aside. The old springs creak loudly as I pull the handle and unfold the pull-out mattress.

                Castiel hovers, guarded and unsure. I pull back the sheet and place a pillow at the head of the mattress. “Here, take off your coat and lie down.” He obeys slowly, folding his beaten trench coat neatly on the floor beside the bed and slipping beneath the sheets. “There you go. Now, you sleep here and I’ll take the other couch.” I grab an extra blanket from Sam and Dean’s room and lay it over his body before switching off the lamp on the side table and turning away.

                “Wait,” he says softly, I turn back to look at him, “Thank you.”

                “No problem.” I return back to my TV and beer and wait patiently for Sam and Dean to return.

 

\--

 

                After a few hours of crap television and drifting in and out of sleep the sound of a key turning in the door brings me back to earth. The door creaks open and Dean shuffles in awkwardly, carrying a paper bag. I rub my eyes to wake myself up a little. I turn the TV off and flick the light beside it back on, crossing to the kitchen table to sit down across from Sam.

                “Here,” Dean plops the bag down in front of me, “We brought you some food.”

                “Thanks but shh,” I hush, gently prying open the bag to take out its contents. “We’ve got another tenant.” I nod my head in the direction of the back room where Castiel is fast asleep beneath the covers.

                Sam and Dean flash startled looks to each other and back to me. They stare me down while I take a bigger bite than I should out of the burger from the bag. I notice their glares and struggle a sort of “What?” out around the mouthful of food.

                _“What?”_ Dean whispers, “Who the hell did you just invite to sleep in here? What are you, Mary Poppins?”

                “Okay, one; that reference makes absolutely no sense at all, and two; it’s just Cas.” I take another bite from my burger. They settle a bit in relief.

                “Wait, but Cas doesn’t need to sleep.” Sam whispers.

                “Yeah, that’s what I thought too, but I guess it’s new. See, he thinks he’s started to fall. He said he started needing sleep and that he’s losing his mojo.” They both stay silent, eyebrows knit together, mouths slightly agape. “I wish I could say he’s worrying over nothing but the way he looked – if you could have seen him - he looked so exhausted.”

                “Well what the hell has he been doing? I mean he saves you from that freak possesion fit and then just disappears for weeks?” Dean demands quietly.

                “He’s been in hiding. He came here to place protection sigils on my ribs. After he did that I couldn’t stand to see him so exhausted. I felt like I need to lend some sort of hand so I gave him a bed to sleep in and told him he was welcome to hide here for a while.” I glance between their faces, trying to read them, “Was that okay?”

                “Yeah, yeah that’s uh-“ Sam huffs, “That’s great. That’s fine.”

                “Guess we’ll talk to him about in the morning then.” The three of us stay motionless and silent, each thinking about the same thing. “I’m gonna follow Cas’s lead and get some sleep. G’night.” Dean leaves the two of us at the dimly lit table and shuffles to his bed.

                Sam puffs out a small laugh and runs a hand through his hair. He leans back and lets out considerable sigh.

                “Tough day then?” I manage around bites.

                “You don’t even know. I’m sorry but I'm pretty burnt out too. I’ll see you in the morning.” He gets up from his seat and retreats to his own bed.

                “G’Night.” I sit alone, eating slowly, trying not to think too much about anything. If I think now I'll just get too involved in my thoughts and I'll be up all night coming up with crazy ideas. It's best if I just let everything be until the moring. I’ll just let myself be blank for now. I can think tomorrow when Castiel is awake. I can ask him about my ring. I can ask him about everything. He'll know. I really hope he knows.


	7. The Art of Burrying Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One million versions of me trying to warn myself of something I don’t entirely understand.

                I’m walking down a long white corridor. The walls are blank and the ceiling is out of sight beyond the vast plumes of fog far above my head. It feels like I’ve been walking for weeks when the hall finally comes to an end. I stop before the impossible wall covered corner to corner in mirrors of every kind. My reflection stares mildly back at me, no expression to be read. I reach out a hand a place it on the mirror directly in front of me but my reflection doesn’t do the same.

                “Please open it.” It says, “If we can win, we will save them.” The words are round and unbalanced, echoing here and there and shattering against the harsh brightness all around me.

                “What? Open what? Who will we save?” My own voice is barely a whisper though I’m putting all I can into what feels like screaming.

                “Open it, return to us. But be cautious.” My voice is distorted and heavy coming from the reflection in the mirrors; one million versions of me trying to warn myself of something I don’t entirely understand.

                “Be cautious of what?”

                “Be cautious for they wish to kill the family to get to us. They will use the family to draw us into the open.”

                “No, I don’t understand” I plead, “Please, you have to tell me more! I don’t get it, who are they? What do they want? I don’t understand! _I don’t understand!”_ My words fall back sharply into my own ears and pull me away from the mirrors, back to a safer place wrapped in something warm and comforting.

 

\--

 

                There’s nothing but silence now; full, dense, silence. I open my eyes slowly, trying to focus on anything in the dark room. The wood stove glows weakly in the corner and soft bits of light peak out around the boards on the windows. The sound of Sam’s low snoring drifts in from the bedroom and mixes with the crackling of the last of the wood in the fire.

                I stand from the couch reluctantly and wrap the blanket around my shoulders. Castiel is still far from consciousness and Sam and Dean are sprawled across their beds. Not quite sure what to do with myself I quietly retrieve my duffle bag from the back room and bring it to kitchen. It makes a light thud as it hits the couch and I sit cross legged facing it. Unzipping it slowly, I’m not really sure what I hope to see, though I already know what’s inside. Maybe I want to find some of my own clothes from home, some old pictures, or one of my favorite books. Whatever it is I want it isn’t in there. I stare blankly at the bag’s contents; a pantsuit, a wallet full of fake I.D.s and scammed credit cards, a few changes of new clothes, and pair of black leather shoes. The sight of these things practically repulses me. I close the bag and throw it onto the armchair across from me.

                I guess I’m just homesick. All I really wanted to find was something that could remind me of who I was before I joined the Winchesters; one little shred home. The only thing I’m left with from my own world is my ring, and it’s barely even the same ring now.

                These thoughts of home and a lost world pour through me in cold shivers of sadness. It’d probably be best to push them from my mind and leave them to collect dust beneath the excitement of this life Sam and Dean have given me. If there’s anyone to learn the art of burying emotions from, it’s Dean. It’d be best if I just leave it, if I think of things with current importance, like the dream I had last night. What did that dream even mean? Am I avoiding thinking about it? Probably, but I can’t do that anymore. I need to figure this out so I can fix whatever the hell is broken inside my head.

                I’m suddenly aware that my left hand is significantly warmer than the rest of my body. My ring is bright as always and shining in the absence of light. I trace a finger over the stones and they’re hot to the touch but not painfully so.  I wonder if – I slide the ring off my finger and the glowing ceases completely. I slide it back on and the glow brightens again. Well that proves it more than anything I guess; I definitely have a connection to it.

                “Good morning.” Castiel’s low grumble surfaces behind me.

                I turn to meet his gaze, groggy but well rested. The sight of his hair chokes a laugh from me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such amazing bed head in my life. “Moring,” I whisper, rising from the couch and motioning him to join me at the table. “Sleep well?”

                “Yes, very well thank you.” We sit silently, appreciating the sounds around us; the birds waking in their nests, the snow drifting from the roof, the branches creaking out their own good mornings.

                If I ask Cas about my dreams or my ring will I like what he has to say? Will he even have an answer? My heart is fluttering over words unsaid and all I can think of are things I don’t want to hear. But, this is the only solution I imagine might give me some answers now. It shouldn’t hurt to try.

                “Hey, Cas, could I ask you something?” He says nothing but raises his chin inquisitively, cocking his head slightly. “I’ve been having these dreams ever since that thing in the motel happened. In these dreams someone keeps saying things like _‘they’re going to kill the family’_ or _‘come back to us’_ or _‘open it.’_ I have no idea what any of it means.” His face is unchanging but his eyes are invested in my words. “I just thought maybe you might know something that could help?”

                He looks away, eyebrows knit together, mouth tight. For a moment he seems confused but his expression quickly sifts to that of suspicion. “You said they speak of _‘the family’_?” I nod, “And are these dreams of others? People you have no recollection of meeting?”

                “Well, usually they’re just disembodied voices, but sometimes it’s my own reflection.” I describe the dream I woke from this morning. After a few minutes of silent thinking he moves his mouth as if he’s going to speak but says nothing. “Castiel,” I speak softly so as not wake Sam and Dean, “You know something. I can see it.”

                He hesitates, avoiding eye contact. Then finally, he bores his eyes straight through me. “I do not know if it has anything to do with these dreams of yours but there is something I do know.” His whole body is ebbing with seriousness as he speaks, tense and glaring at me through his eyelashes. “Years ago, when Heaven was first falling into disarray, there was an organization of rebel angels whose goal it was to teach free will and the importance of freedom to the Lord’s angels. They were a small group called _‘The Family’_ and they were infamous. They walked the earth with man and helped anyone in need; men, women, hunters, fallen angels and the like.” The glint in his eyes reflects his passion for the history of his brothers and sisters. “After years of fighting with the rebel cell, the angels who had taken over Heaven eradicated them all to a godless place, a place where the same beliefs remained intact but no truths lie within the stories of the Bible. They laid each angel dormant in the body of an unborn child, safe to grow and think as normal human. They would have no recollection of being an angel or any suspicion that they were not human. Their leader, the Archangel Ramiel, is now lost to all. We do not know if every angel resides in the same world. The whereabouts of these soldiers is completely unknown.” His muscles slacken with the last words of his story.

                “So do you think that’s the family these voices are talking about?” I ask.

                “I do not know, but it is highly unlikely. It’s most likely they’re speaking of the Winchesters.” He sighs, rubbing his face.

                “But why kill Sam and Dean to get to me? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” He shakes his head with a slight shrug of his shoulders. I lean back in my chair, thinking through everything about the last few weeks. Nothing seems to come together quite completely to make a whole piece to this puzzle. “Hey, how do you know all of this anyway?” I can’t help but wonder.

                “I know all of Heaven’s history.” He cocks his head, “Also, I was being pursued to be placed in the same state as the lost rebel family.” My heart drops.

                “You mean you crashed through my fence because they were trying to put you to sleep forever?” This information makes complete sense in light of all he has been through these past few years, but it’s still a huge shock. Castiel being hunted and thrown in Angel jail, that’s insane.

                A low grumble erupts from beneath the table where he sits. His eyes widen in confusion and embarrassment. He almost looks terrified that the sound came from him. “I—I apologize.” He sputters, nervously.

                “It’s okay Cas.” I laugh, “Sounds like you’re hungry though. I would go grab us some food, but Dean doesn’t let me drive the Impala.”

                “Dean doesn’t let anyone drive the Impala.” Sam yawns as he approaches the table and sits beside me. “Hey, Cas, how’ve you been?”

                The tension between Castiel and Sam is practically palpable in the air around us. “I’ve been better.” Castiel states, back to his matter-of-fact, self.

                “Yeah,” Sam looks to me, face pinched in his patented worried expression, “We heard about how you’re – you know –“ he stops himself from finishing the sentence. He seems afraid of the words. “Is there anything we can do to stop it?”

                Castiel shakes his head, indifferent to Sam’s offer. Why the hell does Cas dislike Sam so much? Sam really does care about Castiel like a brother and he tries so hard, but Cas just won’t reciprocate it. The amount of sass emanating from the man across from us could easily fill a pool. I didn’t know Cas had it in him.

                “What do you want, Garth?” Dean’s voice drifts in from the bedroom. “It’s the ass-crack of dawn and we’re nowhere near there.” Castiel, Sam, and I listen quietly from the kitchen. “Fine, but you owe us.” There’s a soft rustle of sheets and he rounds the corner into our view. “Garth wants us on a case in Lexington, Nebraska.” He sighs, pulling a shirt on over his head as he enters the room. He comes to the table, grabs Castiel’s shoulder and sits beside him. “Hey, Cas, Buddy. Where have you been?” He asks him firmly.

                “I have been hiding where ever I could.” Cas answers automatically. I swear the bond between these two is so personal it’s uncomfortable to be in the same room as them, let alone at the same table.

                “Well, why don’t you answer us every now and then, just so we’re sure you’re safe?” Dean pats his shoulder once as Castiel nods like a child being reprimanded, and turns to face Sam and I. “So Garth has a case for us in Lexington; something about a couple of djinn terrorizing a town. Three people have already turned up dead so I suggest we should get moving.” He stands from the table and looks down at all of us expectantly.

                “That’s thousands of miles away from here, Dean. Why does Garth want _us_ to do it?” Sam asks.

                “Turns out we’re the only ones who know how to kill the things and we’re the only ones who’d be most willing.” He pulls on his leather jacket and grabs his duffel from the bedroom.

                “More like the least unwilling.” Sam mumbles.

                “I’m not too happy about it either, Sammy. I hate djinn. The last time we tangoed with one isn’t exactly my most treasured memory.” Dean says as he shoves clothes and weapons into his bag. “The only good thing about this is that Lexington is less than a day’s drive from Lebanon so when we’re done I can get back to my own room at home. Hell yeah.” He smiles to himself.

                “What about Cas?” I ask, “We can’t exactly leave him here, not when he’s like this.” I glance at him apologetically. It seems like we won’t be returning here for quite a while if we can manage to stay at their new real home in the bunker.

                “Do you think the bunker is secure and secret enough for him to hide in?” Sam asks, leaning against the kitchen counter.

                Dean stops packing and contemplates this momentarily. “I don’t know, probably.” He says loudly, “I mean, if it was forgotten for so long, don’t you think the angels would have stopped watching it by now? Besides, it’s the men of letters Head Quarters so it’s bound to be drowned in protective symbols and sigils and spells and anything someone could do to keep something safe and secret from the supernatural world.” Everything he’s saying is true. There is no reason Castiel wouldn’t be safe there.

                I wonder if Castiel is as excited to see Sam and Dean’s new home as I am. I’ve only heard about it in the stories they’ve told me. A sudden thought crosses my mind. “Can I come on this hunt?” Sam and Dean both stop in their places. They look up at each other and speak without words. I hate when they do this. It really freaks me out.

                “I don’t know, a djinn is really dangerous. Maybe it’s not the best thing for your first hunt.” Sam babbles.

                “It wouldn't be my first kill though.” I point out. “Don’t forget, I was locked in that freezer with that werewolf and I killed it without a problem.” I’m wearing all of my hope on my sleeve as I plead with them. “C’mon guys, you have to take me sooner or later.”

                They say nothing, but continue talking with their eyes across the room. Seriously? Stop that, it’s weird.

                Finally, Dean breaks the unbearable eye contact, “Okay, fine,” he sighs, “but no dying.” He points his finger at me, eyebrows raised. Sounds like a deal to me.

                My heart skips a beat and I’m so happy I could burst. I finally get to go on a real hunt! Time to pile into the Impala and move this adventure along.


	8. Thank You, Boys.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester, scared? What the hell just made that happen?

               Oh Shit. Shit, shit, shit! I press myself as flat as I can against the stacked crates. I think it heard me drop the cap to my jar. Why didn’t I dip my knife in this god damn lamb’s blood beforehand? Why don’t hunters have a more efficient way of carrying blood when they need it? And why the hell do so many things only die when you kill them with something dipped in blood anyway? The supernatural world is so complicated.

                I recap my jar, place it quietly on the floor and crane my neck around the corner just enough to see if the aisle is clear. With no sign of any djinn I lightly make my way down the long aisle of stacked crates. The only light is that of the street lamps trickling in through the high windows. I know these things typically dwell in large, abandoned spaces, but does it have to be this creepy? The glass in every window is either shattered or cracked, the shelves and crates are lined with dust and cobwebs, and the ceiling is high and scattered with burnt out bulbs in every socket. However, the appearance of the place is the least of my worries at the moment. Right now I have to focus on getting to Sam before the djinn start to suck him dry.

                Dean is on the other side of the warehouse trying to keep a low profile, this I know for a fact. Sam and I came in together but we met face to face with one of the djinn and he got touched and knocked out. The bastard put Sam under his spell and I couldn’t get to him before another came. We had been certain there was more than one before we entered the warehouse, now, I’m certain it’s a father and his son. So, at least we now know we’re only dealing with the two.

                I reach the other end of the building and duck behind a large, dust coated desk. If I can get to Dean then we can each take a side, corner the djinn and kill them, but by that time they could have already gotten Sam in his dream world and started sucking the life out of him. If I go for Sam there’s a better chance the djinn get me and slip me the supernatural acid too. My best chances are with reaching Dean. Last I saw, he was headed this way, but where is he?

                A soft thud to my right catches my full attention. I draw myself up. Sitting on my heels, I perch, back straight, ears strained for following sounds, and reflexes ready for any sudden conflict. The silence around me is pure until it’s interrupted by the faint whisper of fabric. I grip the knife handle tight, my knuckles turning a pale white. Swallow hard, breathe. Cautiously, I peer around the corner of the desk, searching the darkness violently to spot the culprit. With no such luck, I decide to take my chances. Careful not make a sound, I crawl slowly from my place beneath the massive desk and seen him, gun held close, chest rising and falling in rapid succession. I scramble to his side and lean flat against the wall just as he is. “Look who finally showed up.” huffs Dean.

                “I’m sorry,” I whisper, “And remind me again, where were you when Sam and I got double teamed and he went down for the count?”

                “Dammit, Sammy’s down?” He growls, “Where the hell did they take him?”

                “I don’t know,” I sigh, heart racing, “But I’m pretty sure there’s an office somewhere to our left.” The blood rushing through my veins grows louder in my ears as the silence thickens.

                “Let’s move.” Dean barks under his breath.

                We run with hushed steps, heads down below shelf level between the aisles, and knives held close at our sides. We come to the closed door of the warehouse office and press ourselves beside either side of the door. Dean catches my eye and mimes out instructions. From what I can decipher through the dim lighting of the street lamps, he wants me to follow him in, take the left as he takes the right, and we’ll corner the djinn from either side. Learning the whole miming thing was a major pain in the ass but really I’m glad I did.

                He holds up his fingers; 1 – 2 – 3. He throws open the door and we rush in, taking our declared sides. Sam lies on desk at the end of the room, unconscious, limbs dangling from the edges, I.V. attached to his right arm. I run to him, with no djinn in sight, and immediately remove the needle and check for other injuries.

                “Alright, let’s just get this over with already.” Dean bursts. “Hey, tattoo twins,” he shouts, “I’m taking your snack back!”

                “Dean, is this really the best time to be doing that?” I snap, trying to support Sam against my shoulder.

                “We can’t just leave without killing them,” He says, waving his knife at me, “Leave Sam on the desk and help me kill these ugly sons of bitches and then we can get a move on.”

                Before I have a chance to lay Sam back down, the two djinn come barreling in. I drop Sam to floor and lean him against the desk. “Sorry!” I cry as his head bangs against the hard wood and I spin to meet the two outstretched hands of the younger djinn flying toward my face. I grab him by the wrists and wrap both of his arms beneath one of mine, holding him tight. He struggles and squirms against my hold, making every attempt in his power to free himself. _‘The one thing you gotta remember about djinn is, one touch and you’re down. Don’t let their hands touch you or they’ll give you that freak poison.’_ Dean’s warning had been very clear: avoid the hands at all costs. I pull my blood soaked knife from my pocket with my free hand and thrust it into the dinn’s chest, pushing it in hard to be sure it'll kill him. His arms slacken as the blue light disappears from his eyes. I release my grip, letting him crumple to floor.

                I hear Dean’s fight continuing behind me and turn to meet a sudden sharp pain in my abdomen. I look up to meet Dean’s eyes, wide with horror and fear. Dean Winchester, scared? What the hell just made that happen? The pain is sparking through me more and more with his heavy breathing. I look down to the see the hilt of Dean’s silver blade protruding from my stomach. The djinn Dean was fighting is facing him, both hands on Dean’s, curled around the blade. The djinn deflected Dean’s attack by pushing it to his side, which put the knife through me instead. With my last bit of focus I jam my knife into Dean’s djinn’s back and push it aside. As it falls to the floor I clutch at the knife in my stomach, but everything begins to sway. I lean into Dean, losing what little vision I had in this dark place. No, don’t pass out now. Wait till we get to the car. Just a few more minutes.

                “Cas!” Dean is shouting through the pitch black, “ _Cas!_ ” The flap of fabric and a small gust of air surfaces beside me, “Cas, she got stabbed. Could you fix her up, buddy?” Momentary silence fills the space between us all. “Cas, can you fix her?” Dean asks again. I catch a short glimpse of Castiel’s face as it sinks.

                “I’m afraid...I no longer possess the power to mend the human body.” Castiel’s calm tone almost breaks over the words. I can feel Dean starring at Cas with everything that he feels in the moment showing on his face. Anger, horror, shock and disbelief.

                “Take Sam and poof us to the car, _now!_ ” Dean barks.

                I open my eyes just as Dean is pushing me gently down into the passenger’s seat and running to the driver’s side to take the wheel. Somehow he’s already managed to take the knife out. How did I not notice that? “Hold pressure on that Cas.” He demands, voice a bit quieter now within the confines of the Impala. Castiel presses his hand harder into my blood stained shirt.

                “Dean,” I turn my eyes away from the racing street lights.

                “Hold it tight, Cas.” He instructs again.

                “Dean,” I touch his arm and he glances at me and back to the road, “Get Sam and Cas to the bunker.” He stares, uncomprehending for a moment, almost amazed that I would suggest that at a time like this. Why wouldn’t I? Sam is doped up on freak poison and Cas is in danger just being in this car. If they don’t get to the bunker soon, worse things will be upon us than me having a bloody hole in my stomach. “Just take them to the bunker first.”

                The drive to the bunker is blurry and painful. The lights zoom by outside the windows and cast shadows on all of us in passing as Cas and I try to stop the bleeding without much success.

                Dean helps Cas get Sam out of the car in front of the bunker, hands him the key to get in and quickly slides back into the car.

                Another blurry speed ride and the next thing I know, Dean is hoisting me out of the car in front of a huge white entrance to building with large red letters reading ‘ _Emergency Room’_. Dean supports me with his shoulder beneath my arm and his arm around my waist while I hold my wound tight. We burst through the door, the excessive movement sending surges of pain from the stab wound out through my whole body. “Can we get some help please?” Dean yells as we make it into the emergency room. Three women in blue scrubs rush to our aid, pulling me up onto a gurney and peeling away my bloody shirt to examine the wound.

                “What happened?” one of the nurses asks Dean, her words rushed and heavy as she and the others assess the severity of the lesion.

                Dean looks startled with all that’s going on around him. Why should he? I’m sure he’s done this a thousand times with Sam. “Uh, we were walking home from dinner and we were attacked. The guy pulled a knife and stabbed her and ran away.” Hey, well done, Dean.

                “Take a seat there please, Sir.” A tall man in green scrubs instructs, pointing to a huddle of chairs across the room as he approaches my gurney. Dean catches my eye and hesitates before backing away to the designated seating area. The doctor pulls the curtain around our small area shut as the nurses place cold, wet gauze cloths against the tender skin. “Now, Miss—“ Says the doctor, pulling on his latex gloves and taking a suture from a nurse.

                “Turner, Maria Turner.” I gasp with the sudden shock of cold from whatever it is they’re rubbing on me now. Maria Turner is the name on the card I took today. The cold does nothing to mask the real pain of the wound.

                “Well, Miss Turner, I’m obligated to ask you if the story your boyfriend told was real.”

                “The wound is clean, Doctor. Minimal internal damage, no surgery needed. You can suture it up now.” One of the women says.

                “Yeah, it’s true. We were attacked.” I suck in another sharp breath as the needle pierces the skin. I bite my lip and throw my head back against the gurney. Who knew getting stitched back together would hurt so bad?

 

\--

 

                The smell of cooking drifts in and wakes me from my dream. The room is dimly lit by a single lamp on the desk in the corner. The concrete walls are plain and boring, but hey, they’re clean. I try to push myself up on my elbows but the pain is too much and I lie back against my pillow. I lay still for a moment before trying again and pushing through the pain until I’m standing beside the bed, slightly hunched with the pain of the stitched gash beneath Dean’s clean white t-shirt. The shirt almost reaches my mid-thigh. I lift it gingerly to inspect the gauze taped neatly over my stitches. The blood from the gash has seeped through a bit, but not enough for me to make dean change my gauze again just yet. Poor Dean, we were discharged from the hospital around two in the morning and he was saddled with all of the instructions on how to keep my wound clean and how to change the gauze and how much of my medicine to give me at a time and all of that. They really did think he was my boyfriend or something. I pull the shirt back down and wander to the main room. The tables are all empty and the only sound is the soft hum of music drifting from the record player. Curiosity strikes me and I begin flipping through the vast collection records. It all ranges from within the 20’s to early 40’s.

                “Woah, you’re up?” Dean is standing in the large door way with two plates in his hands. “Doc said to stay in bed today so you don’t tear the stitches out. C’mon lets go eat in your room.” He jerks his head in the direction of my room and I follow him without a word.

                I settle back into my bed slowly and gently and he hands me a plate and fork before bringing the desk chair over beside the bed. Everything on the plate looks absolutely delicious. Dean pulls a bottle of pills from his pocket, drops them in my lap and sits in his chair, his own plait perching precariously on knees as he stabs a piece of sausage and lifts it to his mouth. “Doc said take two every morning and every night.” He mumbles through a full mouth. I take the two pills before digging into my home made breakfast fit for a king.

                “Ugh, Dean,” I say, trying not to spit out bits of my omelet, “This is fantastic!” It’s like eating gold after having had so much diner food and take out for so long. Honestly, this may be the best breakfast I’ve ever had. Ever.

                “Right?” He smiles, huge and goofy, shoveling eggs into his mouth. “Oh _man_ , am I a great cook or what?” I nod enthusiastically. I want to marry this bacon.

                Sam steps into the doorway wearing flannel pants and white v-neck. “Morning, guys-“ He stops, eyes caught on our plates, “where’s mine, Dean?” He asks, half-jokingly.

                “It’s in the kitchen, Bitch.”

                “Thanks, jerk.” Sam huffs and disappears around the corner.

                We enjoy our food without conversation until Sam returns with a plate and a chair. Cas follows close behind him, plate and chair also in his hands. They place themselves around the bed like Dean and sit to enjoy his cooking. “Y’know, Cas,” I say, setting my empty plate on the bedside table after a moment or two, “that is probably the _best_ bed head I’ve ever seen.” Sam and Dean both take a quick glance at Castiel’s hair and burst into hysterical laughter. They pick at it and play with it, smiling and joking with him while he sits, crumpled faced, confused and angered.

                There’s something warm here; something old and new. I fit here. For so long it was Sam, Dean and Cas. But, now there’s me, and I feel like I’m finally one of them. These are the people I’d do anything for all sitting around me now. These are my boys and I’m their girl. I have a family now because of them. I have people to protect and something to protect them from. My life is an adventure and an amazing new story. I’ll never fit in anywhere like I fit in with these boys right here. Thank you, Boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so SO sorry it took me so long to upload a new chapter! I've had no time at all between school and sleep! Please enjoy this chapter and leave some feedback letting me know what you think so far! (:


	9. My World and His

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve always been a remarkably fast healer but this was something completely different. This has defied the laws of nature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I am SO sorry this took me so long. It was definitely a hard chapter to write and it took me through some major writer's block, but here it is. I was going to try to finish chapter 10 before revising and posting this but I felt like the ending was perfect and it was ready to go up. Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

                The whisper of fabric fills my ears. The room is completely silent except for the sound of my breathing. I focus hard on it, a slow, steady pattern. I focus on the way it feels  breathing in and how it has the same thick brush as waves crashing on the shore. I focus on the smooth feeling of the air leaving my lungs and my relaxing muscles as it flows away. Everything is simpler in the middle of the night. Nothing seems too drastic or frightening. The world is more vulnerable and calm when everything asleep. Well, almost everything that is. I’ve found myself needing less sleep in the last week or so. I’ll sleep about two or three hours then wake up fully rested. I guess, sometimes, the world is weird like that.

                I prop myself up on my elbows, stretching away the stiffness in my neck. I stand and blindly make my way to the lamp on the desk. The dim yellow light barely illuminates the room but it’s more than enough. I lift my shirt to examine my scar again, just as I have done every morning since I got the wound. After just a week and a half the scar has almost completely disappeared. If someone was to look at the area with no previous knowledge of it ever having been there they wouldn’t know there was anything out of the ordinary. All that’s left of the wound is a thin, barely visible, stretched line. We were all amazed when it had completely healed by the third day and appalled when scar began disappearing. I’ve always been a remarkably fast healer but this was something completely different. This has defied the laws of nature.

                I pull my shirt back down and pad across the room quietly. I’m now the only one in the entire place that doesn’t sleep on a normal schedule – as normal as a Winchester can get – since Cas has started to need sleep on a normal human-like schedule.

                The main room is lit only with the pale yellow lamps on the last four pillars by the large entrance to control room. The main room is where I’ve spent these sleepless nights, reading volumes from the vast collection of books, listening to the old records, and learning all I can about the men of letters until the others woke up. Sam, Dean, and Cas know about my development of these new sleeping habits but we have yet to figure out the cause.

                I spend the remainder of the night and very early morning reading volume six of a series defining the many different types and uses of sigils from the men of letters’ collection. It isn’t until around 7:30 that Sam comes shuffling in. He yawns and stretches his enormous arms wide before throwing himself into the chair across from me. “Good morning, Dracula,” he jokes, “have a nice night?”

                I smirk and place the book’s ribbon between the pages to hold my place before closing it and looking up at Sam’s face, tired and just barely showing signs of early morning stubble. “I’m actually almost done with the series on sigils, thank you.” I say as I return the old book gingerly to its home between its brothers. “Anything interesting for us to do today?” I sit back down in front of him.

“Unfortunately, no,” he sighs, “nothing weird is going on in the area, nothing big enough anywhere else that another hunter can’t handle, so it looks like we’re just hanging out here today. I thought I might take Cas into the shooting range and show him a few things later.”

                We’ve had small jobs here and there since the djinn incident, but nothing huge. Heaven has been pretty quiet, oddly enough, and no big monster problems that someone else can’t handle. It’s kind of nice having this place as a home we can always come back to after a hard hunt or to hide away in when we have too much on our plates. It’s like a real house where we do chores and cook and drive each other insane. But it’s our home and no one can take it away from us. Between life on the road and life at home there is a definitive difference in the boys. On the road they don't have the same warmth eminating from them, but here in the bat cave, they seem happy, open, and settled. This place is exactly what they need in their life.

                “Morning, Sunshine and Daisy,” Dean says as he enters the room, “who’s up for some breakfast?” He steps further into the room revealing Castiel following very closely behind him.

                “I’d be up for that.” Sam raises his eyebrows at the offer.

                “Sounds awesome,” I add.

                Dean nods his agreement and makes his way to the kitchen. “I’ll help.” chimes Castiel, still only a step behind Dean. Dean pauses and stares at Cas momentarily then shoots a sort of _‘Okay, then’_ expression to Sam and I.

                It’s funny the way Cas follows Dean around like a puppy, but in a way it’s kind of sad. Ever since Cas began falling and he started hiding from the archangels he’s been lost. He has no clue how to live a normal human life and he feels defeated and confused by everyday things. He’s begun following Dean’s every move. It’s a good thing Cas has Dean to lean on when he needs him the most. It’s a really good thing Cas has someone to be so close to. Every now and then I'll catch Castiel looking at Dean; not just looking but investigating him. The way Cas looks at Dean is pitiful and perfect. He looks to him as if he has no idea where he's going but he's happy to be led anywhere Dean will take him. Dean and Cas are my brotp if I'm going to be completely honest.

                “I’m going to do some laundry; do you have anything that needs washing?” I ask Sam before leaving the room.

                He looks up, away from his laptop he now has set up before him, “Oh, yeah, there’s a pile of stuff in my room, thanks.” He says and returns back to his screen. Gross.

 

\--

 

                It takes multiple trips and a good hour or so but I’m finally on my last run through all of our rooms to get all of the laundry that needs to be washed. “Hey, Cas.” I hum, passing his room, the hamper of clothes in my arms getting heavier with each step.

                “I don’t understand.” He sighs. I back up to his doorway and peer in. Cas is seated cross-legged, holding a tattered copy of _Mockingjay_ in his hands. Equally beaten copies of _The Hunger Games_ and _Catching Fire_ lay beside him as if they’d been strewn away in a hurry. “Have you read this series?” He asks, looking up, wide eyed and confused, raising the book from his lap. I nod and try to hold back my amusement. “I just don’t understand!” He repeats, “Why is the Katniss character having such a hard time with this decision? The choice between Peeta and Gale is quite obvious.”

                “I’m sorry, what?” I hold in my laughter as well as I can. Did I hear him correctly? “An entire trilogy about teenagers being forced to kill other teenagers for the entertainment of a nation and you’re hung up on the love triangle? That’s not at all what I’d think you’d take away from these books.” I pick up the first of the series and examine its frayed edges and well-loved pages. “Where’d you get these anyway?”

                “Dean gave them to me. He said I was being annoying and complaining too much so he gave me these and told me to read them.” He states, indifferently.

                I can no longer keep myself together and the laughter comes rolling out of me. Dean? Read the _Hunger Games_? Why am I not surprised? I’d be willing to bet he can quote pieces of it word for word. He’s such a geek. “When did he give you these?”

                He looks up, his huge blue eyes boring right through mine, “This morning in the kitchen.”

                “You’ve read all of this in less than two hours? Holy shit, Cas!”

                “It’s a very intriguing story line.” He says defensively.

                I guess so, but is it intriguing enough to read the entire series in less than two hours? “Well,” I sigh, hiking up the hamper full of clothes to get a better grasp on it, “I guess I’ll let you finish it then.” He nods politely and resumes staring intently at the pages. I’m pretty if he wanted to he could just place his hand on the cover and know the whole story. I guess he really just wants to get the full effect.

 

\--

 

                The large tee shirt clings to my damp skin as I walk down the hall toward my room, humming lightly. I stop walking and stand in the doorway to Dean’s room. He’s down on all fours beneath his desk, mumbling to himself and knocking things around. I clear my throat loudly and lean against the door frame. He jumps and smacks his head on the underside of the desk. I fight the instant urge to laugh. As he stands and turns to face me I suddenly realize I’m _only_ wearing a tee shirt and underwear. I cross my arms over my chest defensively. Dean’s eyes finally meet me and they widen momentarily. Hey, I saw that, perv. “Uh, hey,” he clears his throat, “look what I found.” He nods his head toward the desk. “I found another one lying around and I wanted to see if it worked.” On the desk sits another record player, almost identical to the one in the main room. Dean motions to the box beside it, “Let’s try it out, you pick.” I rifle through the box of records and pull out the large cardboard square featuring a painted portrait of the smiling Charles Trenet, place the disk on the wheel, and set the needle in place. The first song on the album is my favorite song in our entire assortment of records. It’s titled _La Mer_ or _The Sea._ It is entirely in French but easy to understand. The lyrics speak of the beauty of the sea; how it shimmers and moves, and how it’s almost reminiscent of angels. Something about the song holds me; makes me happy. It feels like there are memories just about to surface when I hear the song. I can't exactly remember learning the language but it seems I'm almost fluent.

                _La Mer_

_Qu’on voit danser le long des golfes clairs_

_A des relfets d’argent_

_La Mer_

_Des reflets changeants_

_Sous la pluie._

                Charles’ smooth voice drifts softly from the machine. Dean grins triumphantly at his success. He looks at me with his eyebrows raised and extends a hand. Not sure what to do with his gesture, I place my hand in his. He pulls me in and places his other hand gently on my waist. “Oh! I, uh – I don’t really dance.” I say, pulling away shyly.

                “C’mon, live a little!” He encourages me, still holding my hand tight and pulling me back to him.

                I give in and place my other hand on his shoulder. Our hips sway back and forth with the rhythm of the music as we turn in a slow circle. It’s a simple dance but the idea of it makes my heart skip over itself. Here I am, dancing in my tee shirt and underwear with Dean Winchester in a secret base to a French song from the 1920’s. This isn’t something that happens every day.

                Dean very obviously avoids making eye contact with me. He looks everywhere but at me. Why ask me to dance if you won’t acknowledge me?

                “I’m so sorry.” He says quietly.

                “For what?” He doesn’t reply. I follow the line of his eyes to the place above my scar. The tee shirt – the same one he gave me the night he stabbed me – still shows a translucent circle of pale red. “No. You don’t have to be sorry.” His eyes slowly find mine.

                “I stabbed you. Your first hunt out and _I’m_ the one who got you hurt.” The pain in his words is painted on his face. How can I have this much effect on him? I’m just the tag along on this adventure. They got stuck with me. How do I have the right to make him feel this way?

                “But there’s nothing for you to be sorry about.”

                “Yes there is, I promised myself you wouldn’t get hurt and I broke my own promise. More than that, I almost killed you.” I suddenly feel the strength behind his words. To my understanding he’s saying he would be emotionally in pain and feel emense guilt on all accounts if I were to die, let alone by his hands.

                “Dean Winchester,” we stop our swaying, “there is no reason for you to feel anything but gratitude that I’m okay now. It wasn’t your fault that the timing was as bad it possibly could have been in that exact moment nor was it your intention to sink a four inch silver blade into my stomach. You have nothing to apologize for and for you to be apologizing on the behalf of the universe is just stupid.” He stares at me, blinking away the pain in his expression and replacing it with perplexity. “Do you understand me?” He nods.

                _Et d’une chanson d’amour_

_La Mer_

_A berce mon Coeur pour la vie!_

                With the dramatic end of the song we’ve found ourselves kissing, slow and tender like the song. His lips gently part and draw on mine repeatedly with no defined pace. His tongue coaxes mine at the edge of my bottom lip and I let it in, intensifying the kiss with this new element. His hands cup my face, his thumbs softly stroking my cheeks as my arms wrap around him firmly. We stay like this, kissing, holding each other, for an infinite amount of time that could very well be mere minutes. I breathe him in. His warm scent fills me up, breaks over me with every breath and sends wings fluttering through my stomach. He has just become my world and I’ve become his. It’s just the two of us in this moment. I could let it live in me forever. We break apart, step back and look at each other. Dean glances down at my shirt and back up. “When am I gonna get my shirt back?” the corner of his mouth is fighting to curl up.

                “You can have it right now if you want it.”


	10. A Feather for Your Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel reaches across the table and takes my hand in his, trying for some sense of gentle reassurance.

               I reach across the bed to find empty space, cool and uncovered. A sigh slips through my lips and I push myself up on my elbows. I populate Dean’s bed alone in the pitch black room. A thin line of fluorescent light glows in the crack beneath the door. The clock says it’s 4:07 AM. Weird. After the night I just gave him, I wouldn’t have expected Dean to have been up for several more hours.

                Oh sweet Mary mother of Jesus. I just-

                No.

                I couldn’t have.

                But I did.

                Oh baaaad. This is bad. Bad. Bad. Very bad. Bad.

                I slept with Dean Winchester without a second thought. Oh this is going to make things very uncomfortable around the house. What will hunts be like? Okay, calm down, we’re all adults here. I’m sure we can handle it. Hell, maybe it’ll become a regular thing. NO. It can’t become a regular thing! If it becomes a regular thing we could turn into some sort of item, and then what would happen if that doesn’t work out? But, then say it does work out. Maybe we could be really happy together. I could be a Winchester. A _real_ family. No. Nope. No. Bad. Very bad. I cannot believe I did that. Okay, well, I can get passed it. I’m mature. All I have to do is forget about it. But, Dean. Mm, that body! And the way he moved just right and- No! Bad! Okay, cool down girl. Take a deep breath. I might as well see what’s going on if it’s important enough to have everyone up in the middle of the god damn night.

 

\--

 

                I walk lightly on the cold concrete floor, following the sounds of low conversation. The muffled words lead me to the main room where Sam, Dean, and Cas sit, speaking intently among themselves. Cas is slouching, wringing his hands and speaking low, shaking his head now and then and switching eye contact between Sam and Dean periodically. Dean is leaning, one elbow on the table, one hand propped up on his thigh, listening to every word Cas says. He asks the occasional question but doesn’t force an opinion. Sam is quiet, hands in his lap, eye brows high up and pursed together on his forehead. He says nothing but nods in agreement with things the two others are saying from time to time.

                Dean notices my presence and sits up straight, alerting the others to my place in the doorway as well. They all turn to take in my appearance. I must look like an absolute mess to them. My hair is sloppily tied up in a messy bun and Dean’s shirt hangs loosely from my shoulders. No one greets me; instead they remain silent as I join them at the table, taking a seat beside Sam and across from Dean. “What’s going on, guys?” I ask lightly.

                The three men exchange glances, speaking with their eyes. I still hate when they do that. Sam clears his throat and begins to speak. “Cas has gotten pretty suspicious about the lack of noise from heaven lately. He thinks it might mean they’re up to something. You know, like they usually are.”

                “Okay,” I hesitate, “so why don’t you take a listen on angel radio?”

                Castiel’s nerves tighten momentarily and he stares embarrassedly at the floor. “I no longer possess enough power to ‘take a listen’ as you so graciously choose to put it. It would require a great deal of strength from my soul which I just don’t have.” He finally makes eye contact with me. “I would need to charge my own soul on that of another being in order to hear what the other angels are saying over our shared frequency.” He stares at me for a long, silent moment.

                Just when Castiel’s stare begins to make me feel uncomfortable Dean speaks up. “Sam and I would offer, but our souls aren’t exactly the purest,” Sam shifts in his seat, “and it would be best if he could charge up on the purest soul around so he could, you know, take a longer peak.”

                The three of them seem to be watching me, waiting for a specific reaction. It’s as though they’re waiting for some sort of sign.

                “Oh! I’m sorry, but you want me to let you charge up on my soul?” I ask, realizing that this is what they’ve been trying to say. “You could ask me straight up, you know.” They slouch in relief. “But, wait,” I waver a little, “isn’t that supposed to be extremely painful?”

                “And dangerous.” Castiel adds matter-of-factly.

                Sam and Dean shoot him looks of surprised disapproval. Dean speaks again, “Look, we know this is a lot to ask of you but it’s really the best way we can offer right now. If something big is going on up there and we don’t know whether it’s good or bad, what are we going to do when the bad comes knocking on our door?”

                I guess it’s the least I can do right now, given that we haven’t had a major job in a while and that I don’t want to be personally responsible for the world’s demise if heaven’s angels are coming to eradicate us all.

                Castiel reaches across the table and takes my hand in his, trying for some sense of gentle reassurance. The effort is all there but I can feel the lack of genuine care for my well-being. Cas and I never were all that close. “Ow!” I wrench my hand out of his with the sudden burning pain. I grab it with my other hand and feel the singeing heat of my ring burning my finger. I try to pull it off but there’s no use. The pain throbs but the heat begins to subside.

                “What happened?” Dean asks loudly. Castiel glares confusedly at my ring and at me.

                “My ring,” I say, “it suddenly just started burning. I don’t know why.” I hold the pulsating finger tight with my other hand and blow gently on the cooling flesh.

                “I’ll grab some ice.” says Sam, pushing himself from the table and bounding toward the mini bar in the corner of the room.

                “Okay, I’m fine, it’s just a burn.” Dean doesn’t seem at all convinced by my lack of care for the strange incident, but I carry on. “So, Cas, if you’re going to do this, you can’t exactly promise me my soul will come out okay, can you?”

                Castiel pauses a moment then lowers his head very slightly, “I cannot.”

                “Well,” I sigh, “might as well hope for the best and get it over with.”

                “What?” Sam’s loud exclamation is made as he hands me a towel tied and filled with ice. I place it on my hand, the instant relief of pain hitting my nerves like a symphony of cool repair. “You’re just going to do it? You’re not going to ask any questions or protest in any way?”

                I shrug my shoulders, “I don’t really see a point in arguing against it, I mean, I’m the best hope we have here right? I might as well suck it up and do my part.”

                They stare at me, a mix of emotions classifying each of their feelings for me in that exact moment; admiration, worry, hope, and fondness.

                “Okay,” I place the bundle of ice on the table and scoot my chair back, “let’s get this show on the road boys.”

                They nod. Castiel stands and comes to tower over me. “This is going to hurt.” He says, taking off his trench coat, laying it over the back of another chair and rolling up his sleeves. “A lot.” I nod my understanding and grip the back bars of the chair tightly, readying myself. “Okay, breathe.” He places his hands directly on the center of my ribcage and begins applying a hard, steady pressure. The pressure grows and with it comes more and more pain. It begins to feel like burning and breaking bones. If I didn’t know any better I’d think he was breaking every single one of my ribs over and over. I throw my head back with the pain, clenching my jaw against the raw tearing of my nerves. My eyes are shut tight but I can still see the impossible bright light emanating from my chest through my eyelids. _‘Yes, return. It’s time to wake up.’_ The booming voice echoes through my head. I recognize it from the motel room. The night I was taken over. I recognize the chorus of voices woven into one. _‘Return to this world.’_ Who are they? What do they mean?

                The pain spreads to my head and to my back. The muscles on my back feel as though they’re stretching and tearing into a thousand pieces. I open my eyes to find Castiel’s intense blue eyes directly in front of mine, filled with fear and confusion. My ring is threatening to burn straight through my hand once again. Castiel quickly removes his hands from my chest and stumbles back, the light within me refuses to cease. The voice in my head is repeating itself endlessly and my back is being torn to shreds. I hastily removing the ring from my finger and heave it toward the ground. The glimmering blue stones shatter. The sound is enormous, echoing off every wall in the great room. A piercing blue light erupts from the shattered pieces of the ring and swims into the air. A dancing column of light like nothing I’ve ever seen. “That’s,” Castiel mutters. The blue light joins with that seeping from my body and everything in me explodes. The pain climaxes to the most obliterating feeling anyone has ever known and it spreads throughout my whole body. As though from a distance, I can hear Sam and Dean shouting. The world around me darkens but I can still feel the waves of power and light flowing from me and rushing back in.

                All at once it stops. The pain subsides, the light vanishes, the voice becomes silent, and the muscles relax. I open my eyes to find darkness. Complete nothing surrounds me. “Hello?” I manage to push the sound from my lips. It reverberates back to me, my distorted voice wavering along. A small blue light, the same color as the one from my ring, floats before me from out of nowhere. It looks familiar. I can almost hear its steady beat as it bobs up and down. I reach out a hand, wondering what the consequences would be if I were to touch it. The curiosity takes over and I place a finger on small ball of light. Its warmth envelopes me, takes me, fills me with things I’d never thought I’d feel again. I remember now. I remember who I was; who I am. All of the things that were at the back of my mind for so many years are surfacing all at once. A life I once lived, a life I can live again. I’m no longer a lost college girl from a home far more than gone, I’m-

 

\--

 

                “Hey!” A harsh pain in my right cheek rouses me to consciousness. “Hey! Wake up! Are you okay? Hey!” Dean has got me by the shirt collar and he’s slapping me, hard. I’m lying on the floor. I can’t recall I how ended up down here, but that’s no worry.

                I catch his wrist as he winds up for yet another slap. “Enough.” I say, “I’m awake.” I discard of his arm and sit up, taking in my surroundings. I’m back in the main room with Sam, Dean, and Castiel. Oh yes, Castiel. I remember now. How much has happened since I’ve been asleep, I wonder? “I’m all right, Dean, you can stop worrying.” I stand and walk to the mirror between two of the large shelves stacked high with books. I examine my appearance. I look better than I thought I might. My hair is still a mess, of course, but the dark circles beneath my eyes have vanished, my skin is clearer than ever and practically glowing, and any sign of a scar or blemish I might have once had has disappeared. It’s like I’m reborn in this body.

                “Hey, are you okay? What just happened?” Sam asks, warily. He’s trotting carefully around his words, afraid he might receive a negative answer.

                “Yes, I already said I’m fine didn’t I?” I say, turning to face the bewildered men.

                “Yeah, but,” he tries again, “really, what the hell happened?”

                “I woke up.” I reply. It has got to be the most obvious answer I can offer. “See? I’m back, fully functional, and absolutely awake.” Castiel is staring, wide eyed, misbelieving, mouth slightly agape. “Castiel, close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.”

                He instantly obeys, straightening his back and looking intently between me and the others, most likely wondering if they truly understand what has just happened. “But how…” he is unable to finish his sentence through his utter surprise.

                “I’m sorry, but is there something we’re missing here, Cas?” Dean spits.

                Castiel looks at him like he is a monkey without the ability to open a banana. “She’s…” he tries again, completely bamboozled as to why the Winchesters don’t see what has happened.

                “She’s what, Cas? Awake?” Castiel nods. “Yeah, we can see that buddy. But what the hell is going on? Am I missing something here?”

                “Oh, nothing really,” I say. I’m beginning to have fun with their ignorance. “I’m back is all.” They’re still confused and it makes me laugh a bit. “What? No welcome committee? I’d think with my level of power I’d have a palace of celebrated soldiers packed into the grandest room, awaiting my arrival!” I poke more fun their way. “Man, you guys are terrible party hosts.”

                Just to add insult to injury, I decide a little showing off is in order. It might befuddle them further, but it’s worth a good laugh. With the tiniest trickle of power, they emerge; slow wisps of power flowing from my soul to my heart and then pumping through my veins. The waves grow more and more frequent, increasing the charge. I release the ocean of electric feathers from their respective bone structures. The blue volts take shape, twisting and dancing into their resemblance of wings. A feather flies forward and lands in Dean’s open palm. A final stretch, large and intimidating, and I reduce the energy and fold away my wings neatly. How’s that for a show boys? Their dumb-struck faces have only grown more ridiculous. Meanwhile, between them, Castiel looks like a soldier, admiring his higher ranking officer.

                Castiel straightens, shoulders back, eyes straight ahead and hands by his sides. He swallows hard. The expression on his face is almost painful. He raises is his chin and inhales deep. “Welcome back, Ramiel.”


	11. Brutal Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was always me. It’s been me this whole time

                Sam huffs his surprised amazement once more. Dean is annoyingly tapping the tips of fingers against the hard wooden table. The rapid _‘thck thck thck’_ could very well drive an angel insane.

                “So, all this time…” Sam starts. Though it seems we’ve gone through this many times this morning.

                “Uh-huh,” I nod.

                “And you remember it all?”

                “I remember this whole life as well as my life before.”

                “Was it always you? Is it _still_ you, I should say?” Sam leans forward, invested in my answers.

                “It was always me. It’s been me this whole time; I just didn’t remember anything from before. The vessel I inhabit now never had a consciousness for me to place aside. I’ve been this vessel’s one and only consciousness its entire life. Think of it as waking up with an extreme case of amnesia and relearning the world all over again, the memories were still there, I was just unaware of them at the time.” I sigh, running a hand over my face. “Okay, here’s the entire story as it is to tell, but in short, because, well, we have some work to do now that the sheriff is back in town, got it?” I take their silence as a green light and lean in to relay my story.

                “My name is Ramiel and I am one of God’s Archangels. People often think that Uriel and I are the same person, but in actuality, our father gave us the same duties without the same personality and we soon split in two separate ways. In Hebrew my name translates to ‘Compassion of God.’ You see I was always the one who did what our father said. It’s not like I was a goody-two-shoes or anything, it’s just that I saw the good in his creation – well you humans that is – and I didn’t mind guiding you and watching you grow. What a beautiful species you were from the start. The others were often jealous of his favoring you and they never much liked having to be the older siblings, not to mention the ‘less loved,’ as they chose to see it.

                “There were many angels that were practically disowned when we took up families with the humans but that was only under the law of the other archangels. After Dad disappeared everything sort of went up in smoke. The archangels began running things and they seemed so entitled; they believed all rights were owed to the angels and the humans were just an ant beneath our boot. You were ours for the ruling. I and large group of my own followers – entirely angelic of course – voiced our disapproval of their tyrannical ways and we led a rebellion based entirely behind the gates of heaven.

                “We didn’t last very long being that at the time Dad’s disappearance was fairly new and very few had fallen or been killed. My rebellion cell was quickly defeated and we were all sent to that parallel universe, placed in dormant bodies waiting to receive a soul before birth. If I’m to assume they each grew as I did, we all had no knowledge of our pasts until this moment, as I recall my life to you.

                “Since I came here with you I’ve had voices in my head and terrible migraines with no known source. I believe now that it was my grace trying to spark my memories and return me to myself again. It must be because I’m home in my own universe again that my grace became active. The voices must have been a mixture between my dormant self and bits of angel frequencies reaching my broken signal.” I study the shards of the blue ring littering the floor boards. “I never knew it was of any physical importance to me, I had always just had an overbearing affection for it.”

                 Castiel is listening intently, tense and devoted to my every word. I must have become quite an icon while I was gone. Although, given my knowledge of Castiel’s recent past, it does seem fitting that I am the one he has chosen to idolize. I am, after all, the most well-known rebel by all of the angels and Castiel has now begun to see what I once taught.

                 “Now that I’m back we can get the ball rolling again. Sam and Dean, you can choose to abstain from taking part or you can fight by my side. The choice is yours and there’ll be no hard feelings if you choose not to fight.”

                 Sam and Dean glance at each other, an air of confusion and worry drifts between them. “I’m sorry, what fight? Who said anything about fighting?” says Sam.

                 I swear to Dad, these boys are going to be the end of me. I run my hands through my hair and lean back in my seat. A sigh slips through my teeth and permeates the thick silence. “Well, since I’m back I can’t exactly just leaves things hanging can I? We’ve got to get the rest of the family back from that other world and get the fight going again!” They stare at me blankly; it makes me feel like I’m speaking to a lazily dressed brick wall. “We’re going to take back heaven.”

                 Castiel chokes noisily in the corner. His tired face is scrunched up and blushing pink. “You good, Cas?” Dean sneers. Castiel waves away this playful worry with one hand as he coughs into the other.

                 “Oh, and that reminds me,” I scoot my chair away from the table and stand. “Come here, Castiel.” Cas does as he is told - what a good little soldier - and comes to stand before me. “Stay still, you may feel a slight pressure.” Before he can raise any questions my palms are flat on his chest and I’m passing a steady stream of my energy on to him.

                  The electric pulses flow from my body to his. They fill me with warmth; extend to every nerve in my body. My wings expand, a brilliant blue light spills into the room and illuminates Castiel’s worn features. I stretch my wings wide and gently wrap them around our bodies, holding us close. The energy cradles us, flows from me to him. “Now, Cas, I can’t give your grace back. All I can do is lift you, give you the strength to reclaim it yourself.”

                  Castiel quivers beneath my touch. “I can’t. It’s gone. I’ve fallen.” I can feel the heaving breaths in his chest aching to surface. Every movement seems to cause him pain. Whether that pain is physical or emotional is unknown to me, but it still hurts me to see nonetheless.

                 “Have you fallen, Castiel?” a laugh of sorry disbelief escapes me, “You’ve hardly hit the ground. Strength, that’s all it takes, and I’m giving you plenty of that.” I clasp my wings a bit tighter around him.

                 “I have hit the ground.’ He says, “I hit it a long time ago and Dean has been picking up the pieces since.” His words sting my heart.

                 I hold him tighter and do all I can to share the warmth from this energy with him. “Castiel, your grace is there. Take is back now.” I slowly open my wings, releasing him from their grip. As their blue light fades away and they tuck neatly back into place, Castiel is still lit from within. The struggle is painted on his face. “Go on, grab it.“ Cas stands still for a very long time, vacant pain in his eyes.

                “Cas? Is he gonna be okay? What did you do to him?” Dean is bombarding me with questions. “Can he really just take his grace back?”

               “Calm down, Dean. Just watch would you? He’ll be fine, just give him a chance.” We all fall silent and watch as Cas pushes himself to reach the part of him he thought he’d lost.

               Castiel raises his head toward the ceiling and a brilliant light bursts from him, exactly like it did from me earlier when my grace was restored. The light dies away and washes the tired and weary lines from his face as it goes. He takes a moment to breathe before he opens his eyes. “I…I did it.” He puffs.

               “Hell yeah you did!” I clap him on the back and Sam and Dean rush forward to inspect him and reassure themselves of his well-being.

               Being an angel doesn’t mean I have any less love for these men. They’re the best family I’ve ever had. There’s rarely a happy moment in the Winchesters’ daily schedule so I’ll do my best not to spoil it.

               “By the way I slept with you brother.” I murmur through a smile, with hand on Sam’s back.

               Sam pauses, wide eyed, staring at me. “Wha-“

               “Me too.” Says Cas.

 

\--

 

                Dean is frozen in place, jaw clenched, eyes jolting between Cas, Sam, and me. I can feel my mouth slightly agape in amused surprise with this news from Cas, who doesn’t seem to be phased by this admittance at all and is still sparked from regaining his grace.

                “You slept with- and _you_ slept-“ Sam is having trouble digesting what he’s just been told. He backs away a few steps and pushes his hair from his face with both hands. He looks to dean with his confused puppy eyes. Dean glares at Cas and I. He seems a little angry, but more so embarrassed. I would be too if my secret gay lover just told my brother I’m gay.

                “I guess someone has a thing for angels.” They all shoot annoyed looks my way. It seems my witty commentary isn’t really helping the situation.

                “So, you’re… gay then.” Sam asks Dean, still avoiding eye contact.

                Dean crosses his arms and looks at the ground, kicking imaginary rubble with his socked foot. “Actually the technical term is bisexual. Cause I like dudes and chicks.” Sam huffs an anxious laugh and paces a few steps away. “But, hey, dude, nothing’s different, okay? I’m still me. You’re still you. Cas is still Cas and well, now she’s Ramiel. But we’re still the same old team!”

                Sam laughs again, “Yeah except now you guys are gonna be hooking up where ever we go.” You can leave me out of this. Now that Cas is part of the deal, I’m out.

                “C’mon, Sammy. It’s just Cas, really. I only slept with Rae last night. It was – we had a moment. That was all.” Ouch. Okay. Don’t hold back Dean, jeesh.

                “Does it really matter? I mean you guys stopped the fucking apocalypse together for Dad’s sake. I think he has the right to have an angel in his butt just as much as you had the right to be cow-girled by a demon. So shut up, hug it out, and get over it.” They take a moment, hesitating going near each other. “ _I said hug._ ” My booming, layered voice makes them both jump into action and hug awkwardly. It’s pretty awesome having my archangel powers back. “But seriously, Sam, how could you not have called that? They’ve been basically dating since they met.” Castiel tilts his head, eyes narrowed and Dean looks just about ready to punch me in the face.

 

\--

 

               The next several days are spent pacing the mythology section of the library, discussing the game plan, and eating copious amounts of cereal. We live each night and day around the conference table in the war room arguing over what to do first and why and when  and _‘how is that supposed to support an army’_ and _‘no way in HELL she would join the team’_ and many _‘you would bring_ that _into heaven’_ s? Sometimes when I glance at Dean during these meetings I notice and note of sadness sewn into his frustration; something that longs for an old help that can no longer be offered. He needs Bobby.

               In all honesty, he’s probably right. Bobby’s tendency for a brutal truth is exactly what we need. We’re fooling ourselves. Every plan we come up with is scrapped at one point or another because of wishful thinking and hopes for the ideal conditions in each situation. We need Bobby’s affinity for immediately seeing the flaws in a plan and pointing them out in a moment this dire. Well, here’s hoping Dean picks up on his thoughts and uses Bobby’s strategy, if one could even call it that.

 

\--

 

                 By the Thursday of our second week into planning we have a main layout for our strategy, we’re going cold turkey on the captain crunch, and Dean and Cas now sleep in the same bed every night. This could not get any weirder; except that I regained my angelic status but I’m still eating captain crunch because it’s like buoyant crack.

                 Our plan so far is simple and easy to follow, but probably not so easy to carry out.

                 Task one: return to the second universe and retrieve all of the angels of the family.

                 Task two: gather an army of said angels and any acquaintances and friends of the Winchesters' willing to fight by our sides.

                 Task three: train for the battle and expect the unexpected.

                 Task four: invade heaven and fight like hell to reclaim it in the name of free will.

                 Here we are; the brain, the brawn, the fallen soldier, and the long lost leader. Team Free Will, back and better than ever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been forever since I posted and I'm sorry but I hope you like this chapter with a slight plot twist to make up for it.


	12. Homeward Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Let's go find some angels, folks."

            The weight on my shoulders is growing heavier. I feel as if the pressure I’m swimming in is increasing by the day. The water escapes from my cupped hands and runs down my arms as I lift them to my face. The cool relief on my skin isn’t as vibrant as it was when I was human, but the memory is the same. I examine my reflection in the mirror; the marks left from growing into this body have entirely disappeared. On the inside I feel just about the same, aside from my grace returning, but on the outside it’s as if I’m an entirely new person. I don’t look the same; I look like a doll. I miss the imperfections of human skin, the traces of memories and the realness of it all. Every scar was a story and those stories made up a life. I have no proof of my story, just a porcelain vessel with nothing to show what it’s been through. The best part of being human was the choice to wear your heart on your sleeve or to let your markings give it all away for you. Even breathing isn’t as satisfactory. Who knew being an angel would give me such mixed feelings?

            However, I am still really enjoying living here with everyone now that Cas is back. These past few weeks leading up to our so called “war” have been the most amusing so far. Castiel is back to his old gullible self and is so fun to tease. I’ve really been enjoying his presence in the bunker as of late. A few days ago I pulled him aside and said to him; “Did you know that when a human is punched in the stomach after drinking something they’ll burp a large bubble?” It felt a bit farfetched and at the time Castiel didn’t seem all that convinced. He had simply stared at me with those same squinted eyes and the slightly tilted head. I really thought he had seen right through me on that one until the next day when I saw him watching Dean drink his beer. I didn’t think he would actually do it, but immediately after Dean took a particularly long pull on his bottle Cas reached over and delivered an unbelievable punch to Dean’s lower abdomen. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in my life. Dean’s beer poured from his nose like a faucet and he made the most Dad awful choking sound. The of confusion and sudden realization on Cas’s face was absolutely priceless. Sam and I were both howling with laughter from the back of the room watching the scene play out on the couch in the den. Castiel’s ignorance is a blessing. Thank you, Dad.

            A light knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. “Yeah?” I respond to sudden obstruction.

            Sam’s low voice just barely slips past the thick wooden door: “We’re going to watch Inception tonight. You in?” Inception? Wasn’t that the one with the guy who is in everything but never won a single Oscar?

            “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute. Save me some popcorn.” We’ve been taking this last week to recuperate and rest up before we completely submerge ourselves into a world of impossible tasks and insane battles. Therefore, we have been having endless movie nights and acting like real people for a change. Since I no longer need sleep I’ve been watching all of the shows and movies I never had time for when I was human. Cas and I just finished a British show called Merlin about King Arthur and Merlin as young adults. It was a great show but Cas didn’t agree with me when I insisted that Arthur and Merlin were in love. I mean, how can you make an ending scene so emotional and romantic between two “best friends” and not intend it to be based around love? I’m still convinced they were gay for each other.

            The floor is cold on my bare feet, it’s fall now and the weather is beginning to agree with the calendar. It’s been almost a year since I joined team free will; a year of ridiculous challenges, emotional scars and terrifying encounters. However, this year has been the best year of my life. Don’t get me wrong, I miss my family more than anything in the world, but these boys have more than numbed the pain. They’ve become something I can’t live without. They are my family and I love everything about them. I would lay down my life for them and I believe they would do the same for me.

            I enter the kitchen lazily and pull my sweater over my shoulders. “Hey, Sam,” Sam nods to me from the microwave where two large bowls sit on the counter waiting to be filled to the brim with popcorn. “Where are Dean and Cas?” I yawn.

            “Well, Dean is in their room changing and I think Cas is in the den.” He chokes a small laugh, “I don’t know why they insist on sharing a room, it’s not like Cas even sleeps anymore.” That is true, Cas doesn’t need to sleep anymore, but every night he lays with Dean until he falls asleep and then comes to join me in my room to watch things on Netflix. Cas is good like that. He’ll do just about anything for the ones he loves, as long as it’s well justified and doesn’t cause him physical or emotional pain. Like that time Sam and Dean got really drunk and tried to make Cas let them shave his head with a vegetable peeler. I’ve never seen someone disappear from a room faster. But nonetheless, Cas is always around when we need him the most. I’m so glad he’s happy in his new home.

 

~~

 

            It’s finally the day we start our next chapter. I finish packing my things and enter the main room. Sam, Dean and Cas are all standing around the large table zipping up the last of their duffle bags as I enter the room. Sam smiles at me, hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. Dean nods his acknowledgment at me as he throws his bag over his shoulder. “Make sure you all have everything you need.” I announce, “We may not be back for quite a while.”

           Dean glances back up at me and places his bag gently back down on the table. “I’ll be right back.” He shuffles quickly down the hall and out of sight.

           I look back at Sam, “You got everything, Big Guy?” He nods and tightens his grip on his bag, skin stretching white over calloused knuckles. I cross to Cas, standing tall in the center of the doorway, observing everything as if he’s keeping a record of every moment going by. The lapels of his trench coat are folded oddly. I begin evening them softly, “Listen, Cas,” I start, “are you sure you want to come? It’s gonna be a pretty long haul. We probably won’t be back for months.” He tilts his head just less than a degree. “I just mean you don’t have to come if you’d rather – I dunno – stay here and start collecting an army or someth-“

           He stops my hands, busy subconsciously buttoning his coat. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about my safety,” his voice is hushed and sweet, “worry about your family; worry about retrieving them safely.” The corners of his mouth curl up slightly, masking my worrying heart with a warm rush of affection. Castiel is so dear to me and all of heaven without even knowing it. He began the revolution and he showed the angels what courage and self-worth really are. He may make an amazing leader one day.

           Behind us Sam clears his throat loudly. I turn to look at him over my shoulder, hands still resting beneath Castiel’s on his chest. “Uhm,” he clears his throat again, “what’re you doing?”

           “What are you talking about?” I glance between Cas and Sam as I say it, “We were talking. You were right there. You could hear everything.” Sam suddenly looks very confused and shakes his head. I look back at Cas whose eyebrows have suddenly knit together, eyes shaded by long lashes. “Oh crap, was I-“ He nods. Shit. I forgot I did that. When I was an angel I rarely had conversations out loud. I must have been talking to Castiel using a private frequency. It’s just so much easier than wasting breath on speaking. Well, whatever, now I can pay Sam and Dean back for making me uncomfortable with all of their eye talking. Hah. “Sorry.” I mumble, turning away from Cas and leaning against one of the large pillars.

           Dean jogs back into the room just as he slips a small piece of paper into the inner pocket of his jacket. “Okay, let’s roll. We all ready?” He huffs.

           I take one last surveying glance of everyone, “Yeah,” I breathe, “looks like it.” I extend my arms to them all. “Come here.” they all obey, moving closer to me, cautiously and nervously. “Now, Cas, place your hand on my shoulder and follow me. I’ll bring Sam and Dean.” Castiel nods and I does as I say, I place two fingers on Sam and Dean’s foreheads. One last breath, “Let’s go.”

           Within a millisecond we’re flying, light surrounding our entirety. My wings catch each breeze with a reminiscent glory, carrying us further and further with a barely audible flap until we’ve passed the ordinary zone of angel travel. We’re in no man’s land now. I’ve gone so long without the excitement and freedom of flying; it feels like I’m living for the first time. Like a bare foot experiencing grass for the first time, the smoothness of water enveloping your body, the happiness of being warmed by the sun after an unbearably long winter. All of these feelings wrap around me and set me free. The pressure in my stomach as we soar toward our destination is nothing. This just feels right.

           We finally land on solid ground and Sam and Dean both stumble away from me, but Cas is still holding on. Everyone is trying to catch their breath and Castiel’s face tells me I’m still smiling wide. I can’t help it, I’m so happy. If I were still human, I’m might cry. I glance at me feet, as my eyes lift from the green grass they’re greeted by a stark white fence. My heart skips. We made it. We’re in the right place. The air is crisp, open and clean. I suddenly realize where I’m standing and I turn, as slowly as possible. I’m not sure if I want to see it or not. It’s been almost a year. I stop turning and look up. In front of me stands a house, tall, lonesome, almost as if nothing good has come its way in quite a while. My stomach turns over and my face floods with heat. This house is mine. I grew up in this house. I know every nook and cranny there is to know inside and out. I force myself to stagger forward a step. I hadn’t really taken time to think about this moment. I just – sort of – went. I walk, very slowly, toward the house, feeling everyone’s eyes on my back. I move quicker and quicker until I’m jogging toward the door. I reach out, hand hovering just above the handle. Why can’t I grab it? It’s almost as if I’m afraid it won’t fit in my hand anymore. It’s something too small, too distant. I won’t be able to hold on if I take it now. A large hand grabs my shoulder with a ginger firmness. Sam takes his other hand and grabs my outstretched hand as with. He guides it with his own, tightens it around the handle and we twist and push together.

           The creak of the door is so heart wrenchingly recognizable to me. As the door swings open, a light brush of air floats past me. I breathe it in deep, savoring the smell of home. Sam’s hand migrates from my shoulder to the small of my back. A silent support to tell me they’re there. I step into the hall and everything is overwhelming. It looks exactly the same as the day I left. Shoes clutter the hall, the kitchen is neat and inviting, the family room is warm and lived in and the whole place is lit by the dim afternoon light seeping through the shear curtains. The creaking floor boards sing beneath my feet as I enter deeper into the house. My throat feels heavy; too dry to speak. “Mom,” I choke, “Dad?” No reply. I turn to the Winchesters, clumped around the doorway. No response from them either. They’re just…observing. “Mom! Dad!” I yell, running up the stairs. Their bedroom is empty. At the end of the hall I see my own door, closed tight, still laden with stickers. I open the door. The room is unbearably hot. Dad must have blocked of the central air to my room to save some money on A/C and gas bills. Everything is untouched though. My bed is a mess, my clothes are scattered all over the floor, and my backpack is thrown nonchalantly in the in the corner. I guess they didn’t have the heart to touch anything…just in case I came back. They still had hope. They were still looking.

           At the bottom of the stairs, Sam, Dean and Cas are waiting patiently. “Now what?” Sam asks, quietly, as if not to upset me.

           I take a deep breath. “I dunno. Do we find a place to stay? Do we try to talk to me parents and explain everything and crash here?”

           Everyone looks at each other and back at me. “You, uh-“ Dean clears his throat and leans forward from behind Sam’s huge shoulder, “you know why we can’t do that, Rae.” My heart drops. Yeah, didn’t really think that one through. I tell them, we stay here, what happens if we’re pursued? With our heads up for bounty in heaven, they won’t care who they kill to get to us. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if something happened to them. “’We better find somewhere to stay,” Dean breathes.

           “Yeah,” I hesitate. “Hold on.” I run back up to my room, make my bed and grab my favorite stuffed animal. I place it gently on my parents’ bed, in the very center between their two pillows, arms folded neatly on its lap. I scan the room, looking for something to help me put my emotions into action. A family photo depicting all of us glints in the dim sunlight on my mom’s bedside table. I remove it from its frame and scramble to find a pen.

          _“It’s okay,”_ I begin writing on the back of the picture.

          _“I know it’s been a really long time since you’ve heard from me and I’m so so so so so so sorry, but I didn’t really expect any of the things that’ve happened in the last year. Sometimes I wish everything that’s happened so far was just a dream and I would wake up, safe and warm in bed. But, I’ve come to realize that it all had to happen. I’m needed where I am. It breaks my heart that I couldn’t contact you…but I didn’t exactly have the right service where I was. I’m sorry that this is how you’re hearing from me for the first time in a year and that I couldn’t say this all to you in person, but there are reasons for everything and safety plays a huge role. If it’s ANY consolation, I’d like you both to know that I’m in great care and I’m happy. I’ve got three amazing people in my life that I love and who love me too. I hope you get to meet them one day when this is all over. I hope I get to come home and tell you everything, but for now I can’t. I wish I could see you before I go, but this isn’t goodbye. I love you more than you can possibly know and I’m grateful for everything you’ve given me. I can’t wait to see you again. I love you both.”_

           I sign my name as the tears fall freely for the first time since I regained my grace. After reading and rereading the note several times I place the picture in the stuffed animal’s lap, giving him a quick kiss on the forehead before returning downstairs to see Sam, Dean and Cas waiting patiently for me in the hall. They all look up to me expectantly as I descend the stairs, pretending not to notice my tears for the sake of my sanity. I take a moment to regain my ground before I address them. “Okay,” I breathe, “Let’s go find some angels, folks.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was really a long shot for who would actually be interested in it. It's written basically so that the reader can sort of become the main character/narrator. Please tell me what you think and if I should continue posting it. :)


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